Combat
by alopecia
Summary: In the notasperfectasitseems Newport world, Ryan is forced to deal with some dark childhood experiences. Fortunately, he has the Cohens' help. Note: Some nonhetero and vaguely sexual content in Ch9 only. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: Sincere thanks to Walter for the thorough beta work and support.  
  
Chapter 1  
  
The afternoon sun was fading but Ryan stayed warm running sprints on the bleachers. Soccer season was over but he liked to stay in shape. The bleachers had become a relaxing workout, a refuge from new expectations and confusing emotions. No words to carefully dole out, no looks to decipher here. Up the north side, stretching a bit to hit every other tread, his heart pounded. Over the top seats he ran parallel to the sidelines. Then, down the south side he ran more carefully now. He caught his breath, but his muscles worked harder, braking so he wouldn't trip down the steep stairs.  
  
A light film of sweat covered him. The land hadn't cooled off enough to kick in the offshore breeze yet. He glanced at his watch, 5 o'clock. Seth would be here to pick him up in a half hour. He jogged slowly along the lowest seats and walked up the stairs, cooling down. He stopped at the top for a view of the campus.  
  
He smiled; it never failed to impress him how the place reeked of elegant money. The intricate mosaic wall murals, the cool Spanish arcades, the mocha lattes offered on the lunch veranda, and the professionally manicured playing fields were bordered by perfect rows of palm trees. In the student parking lot, all flavors of Beemers and SUVs were found. Ironically, what impressed him most was what he didn't see - not a single cigarette butt or broken liquor bottle. Not that the students weren't slobs or didn't smoke and drink, but there was always someone to clean after them.  
  
There weren't many people around because of yet another benefit concert being held on the other side of campus. To most students, the particular cause was less relevant than the goal of being seen and admired there. A few dogs barked and chased each other over the field, occasionally returning to an older couple standing mid field. Behind the bleachers, below and a short distance away from Ryan, a red headed boy sat quietly on the curb obviously waiting for a ride.  
  
On the top bleacher seat Ryan held a stretch, forehead to right knee and both hands around the sole of his new kicks, Nike Shox. The shoes made him about a hundred dollars worth of uncomfortable. They were a reminder of the large bills the Cohens were spending on him. He had tried to explain it to Sandy at the mall.  
  
"You guys don't have to do this. My old ones are fine . . ." When this was met with silence, he added, "I can use my Crab Shack money?" More silence but Sandy's eyebrows gathered in a serious conference. In an exasperated mumble Ryan said, "It's just adding up to too much ... more than we had for real things ... rent, food ..."  
  
Sandy tried to look Ryan straight in the eye, but Ryan lowered his gaze and his hair fell over his forehead. "I get it, Ryan. Cut from the same deck and all that. I denounce the inequities of society, too! You feel guilty and wish your folks could have had nice shoes ... nice clothes, nice cars ... hell, enough for reliable groceries. What if our families had money? Would my dad have stayed around? Would your dad be in prison? I don't know. But the answer isn't to deny yourself. Bring about change, don't make futile gestures!" He paused between the next words for emphasis, "Combat - these -injustices."  
  
Sandy seemed embarrassed by his earnestness, and tried to relieve the moment, "Please indulge us. As Seth says: we've never had a real athlete in the family. Let us pepper your game, or would that be sugar your game? Hmmm. So what'll it be – Saucony Hurricane, Nike Shox, or the classic All Stars in a lovely chartreuse? If you get tired of running in them, maybe you can drink them."  
  
So today the kicks also reminded Ryan of a new resolve to not feel bad about getting things. He wasn't sure how his other resolution to "bring about good change" could be put to action. The phrase "combat injustice" sounded ridiculous - something that belonged to a superhero wearing a cape in a scene from Seth's graphical novels. He cringed at the image but the idea had seemed so right to him when Sandy first said it. He'd have to think a bit more on this.  
  
Ryan looked up when he heard a car race up the drive only to slam on the brakes abruptly. A black Benz pulled up a few feet from the boy.  
  
A tall, overweight man in a business suit jumped out of the car.  
  
The boy stood up quickly, hugging a backpack in front of him. Ryan recognized him as Chester Moore from Seth's sailing class. Chester was a slight, sullen boy in the 5th grade who had never said more than a few words to Ryan. But they saw each other at most of the Newpsie events that the Cohens attended.  
  
"Hi, Dad. H-How was the meeting with Dean Kim? I thought it was Mom who was going." Chester said anxiously.  
  
Mr. Moore stared at Chester for a moment before replying coldly, "She wanted to talk to me because your mom is useless. You're failing gym and retard math? You're both useless."  
  
Chester stared at his shoes and said, "The guys don't like me. They spit at me when Coach isn't looking. I'd rather stay in the library . . . but I promise I'll do better."  
  
"They spit on you?" Mr. Moore's voice and face expressed his revulsion. "What did I ever do to deserve you? Stupid and weak. Incredible. Stop crying. I thought we broke you of that nasty habit." He slapped Chester across the face and turned toward the car. He hadn't put much force behind it, but Chester's heels were against the curb and he didn't have the leverage to stop his fall.  
  
Ryan's stomach tensed and he was motionless, watching carefully. The words weren't aimed at him, the slap wouldn't have moved him. He was safe from his bird's eye view. Sixteen years of living with exploding anger, his reactions had become instinctive. If any of the Cohens were in trouble he would already be on the front lines, fists swinging. But Chester reminded him of himself, only younger. Sometimes others had tried to intervene on his behalf, and he would usually get his ass kicked even more when they left. Bullies hated to be called out and would take it out on the weak as soon as they could.  
  
He knew Chester's face wasn't his worse pain. That was the shock of being told, yet again, you had no worth. AJ's punches bruised deep but healed in days. If you learned to read the signs you could stay out of AJ's way most of the time; bury yourself in a good book. But memories of his meek compliance to commands given with the sole purpose of humiliation endured. Many of his mother's lovers would order him to fetch another beer, hoping he wouldn't so they would have an excuse to beat him, if they needed an excuse at all.  
  
Worse still were commands given by someone who occasionally said he loved you. Like when Ryan and Trey were just little kids, whenever it struck their dad's fancy, he demanded they repeat "I'm a little shit" while he roared with drunken laughter.  
  
"Get into the car."  
  
Chester happened to glance up at Ryan as he was getting up. He seemed embarrassed beneath his scowl, and quickly turned away to comply with his father's orders.  
  
Ryan leaped over the guardrail and began to climb down the backside of the bleachers. He didn't know how getting down would be of any help, but Chester's look forced him to do something. The car sped away before he got a quarter of the way down the scaffolding. Combat injustices? Ha, he could never be fast enough, smart enough.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2  
  
Ryan stood under the shower water in a daze. Normally he loved his private bathroom, and privately he loved trying new Kiehl shower products. Today his body was in the shower, but his mind was stuck on the scenes between Chester and his dad, and Ryan and Trey and their dad. "Useless . . . little shit" punctuated his internal movie in an angry rap song staccato. He tried to block the old memories, stop a wave of nausea, and concentrate on practical ways to help Chester. But what should he do?  
  
Newport was simpler in the beginning, everything black or white. Pod people were hated; friends were rich and happy. Stay a while and the world grays. An asshole water polo player becomes a good friend, a beautiful girlfriend reveals a needy and self-destructive side, your adopted family takes the word of a crazed teenager over your own. He wasn't complaining. Newport had given him more than he deserved.  
  
It was mid February; he had been with the Cohens for close to six months. Like an alien in a new world, he had adapted. He could tie a tie, fake a waltz, and eat Moroccan food expertly with his hands. He could play 'normal teenager', and enjoyed it when Kirsten bugged him about eating properly or Sandy came to watch him play soccer. He was more relaxed now but could never be like them. Their ease came with never worrying about when someone might blow up. Ryan wanted, no – needed, to protect his cherished new world; he had to make sure Chester was okay.  
  
He wanted to rush in and attack Mr. Moore the way he fought the jocks to protect Seth and knocked down Holly's father to defend Sandy and Marissa's father. He had faced Donny and Oliver with their guns. All of it he'd do again without hesitation.  
  
But this was different. If he fucked up, it wasn't Ryan who would pay but a kid, Chester. He wondered if Chester unconsciously crept around his house with his guard up like Ryan and Trey had. Ryan associated Mr. Moore's acts with being broke or high. Often with the ass kickings or drinking binges came a litany of complaints about how the world was against them, keeping them down, not appreciating their true worth. But Chester's family was probably never hungry a day in their lives. Was Ryan over- reacting? The Moores were one of Newport's elite. Maybe the slap was rare, caught on a bad day?  
  
Ryan rested his palms against the shower wall, closed his eyes, and leaned his head under the water. No, the fear in Chester's eyes was all too recognizable. Chester may never end up with broken bones and bleeding in a hospital but one slap meant there were likely times before. Mr. Moore's words alone were hateful and had to be stopped. He had a bad feeling about Mr. Moore. Should he turn to Sandy? Ryan was torn. Sandy meant well but Ryan knew that he was too idealistic, too quick to turn to Child Services.  
  
They wouldn't believe a juvie like Ryan, a slap wouldn't leave a scar to prove what Ryan saw. Besides Ryan's scars never helped him in the past. His bruised face, broken ribs, and cuts forced him to miss school so he could heal without suspicions being raised. By the time he returned to school he was the one in trouble for truancy. Ryan sighed; he realized Child Services was fighting an impossible battle. Nobody could make his parents stop drinking if they didn't want to, nobody could make his dad or his mom's boyfriends stop abusing them. The best Child Services could offer was to take him away from them. Wasn't a slap or two, an occasional slurred rage, worth time with his dad and mom? Even with the perspective of time and distance, Ryan couldn't answer that question – glad he didn't have to decide between the Atwoods and the Cohens. The Atwood stories weren't all bad; there were long days at the beach, afternoons spent peering into the hood of cars together. But in the heat of his dad's anger, he had fervently wished his dad away. In the end it was jail and not Child Services that took their father way. And his mom had chosen to leave.  
  
Ryan knew the tricks of hiding a part of yourself where they couldn't reach, of floating above an ugly scene over your trapped body. He'd rather take the beating than watch his brother being hurt. If you didn't look into the eyes, Trey's eyes, it wasn't as bad for either for them, didn't make it as real. His brother and dad were in prison, his mother didn't want to be found. The Atwood family he remembered, the good and the bad, was over. Quiet tears ran down Ryan's face hidden in the shower water. He gently pounded a fist against the shower wall. He fought the feelings, straightening up and breathing slowly, trying to relax. This is about Chester. Ryan's past was not relevant - he wouldn't let it contaminate his new home.  
  
The water had turned cold and it snapped him out of his reverie. The Cohens' dinner time was not firm, but he hated to hold them up. He got out of the stall and wrapped a towel around his waist. The bathroom was private but he never knew who would be in the pool house when he got out of the shower. Nobody was there today. Ryan went over to the closet, put on his standard of jeans and a white tee. Then he searched his old hooded jacket for cigarettes.  
  
Ryan walked to the back of the pool house and lit up. He took long pulls, occasionally expelling the smoke through his nose. It was stale, but the nicotine from just one cigarette had an effect; his body was not used to smoking anymore. He sat on the lawn and stared at the gentle ocean swell, hoping to calm himself. Unsuccessful, he tapped his fingers against his jeans impatiently and flicked imaginary ashes off his cigarette. All this thinking without doing was driving him crazy.  
  
Seth came around the pool house, drinking from a half empty bottle of Gatorade. He offered Ryan a fresh bottle. "Hey, Ryan."  
  
Ryan looked up, placed the Gatorade by him on the ground, and nodded in thanks.  
  
Seth sat next to him. "Your black hole of sound on our ride home tonight is matched only by your bellowing nod. This is about Oliver - me not having your back, isn't it? I know I really, really, blew it."  
  
With a slightly puzzled expression on his face Ryan said, "We had this conversation already. I said we're okay - we're okay."  
  
"No, clearly we're not. The more you say we're okay so easily, the more I realize you forgive too easily and it's not right. I need to earn your trust. Please, let me do something to prove my worthiness. Maybe I should make a sacrificial offering, an act of contrition, ... do you a huge favor?"  
  
"No, dude. We're cool." Ryan put out his cigarette.  
  
"Please don't make me beg. Do you want me to have to repeat my performance with the water polo team before they peed into my shoes? It's not pretty."  
  
"So you want me to ask a favor of you even if I don't need one?" Seth nodded his head vigorously. "You aren't going to shut up until you get your way, are you?"  
  
Seth shook his head with equal vigor. "No, Ryan. No, I'm not. I need to grab the pebble from the kung fu master's palm, kill the Jabberwocky, 'Ollie' Mount Doom, whatever it takes to prove my worthiness of your friendship."  
  
Ryan sighed, "Okay. Where are your parents?"  
  
"Some charity thing. It's just Kavelier and Clay tonight, two brothers ... Okay? Okay about the proof? You have something in mind already? Because you've seen that my kung fu skills are rusty, my CD burner just can't do Journey for some reason, lifting heavy things – not my thing, and ..."  
  
Ryan interrupted Seth's list, "Follow me." They walked a short way down past the infinity pool toward the cliff. "Hang your bottle from that tree." He pointed 15 yards away to a lone deciduous tree down the hill side. Gnarled from the coastal wind, it had somehow survived weather and landslides, standing tall but on the edge of a steep drop. "Make it high in the air, clear of greenery if you can."  
  
"Yeah, cool, a rite of passage, a quest. A physical challenge, but one I can handle ... I think," he said peering at the drop.  
  
Seth turned and headed toward the garage, returning a few minutes later with old boat line. "I considered a half hitch, but a slip knot is better for tightening around the neck of the bottle while still providing plenty of strength." He demonstrated with the bottle. Then he made random commando style gestures at a bewildered Ryan and headed down the hill, cursing at the loose soil and brambles that snagged him.  
  
At the base of the tree, he attempted to toss the bottle over a high branch a few times but lower branches interfered with his toss. He scrambled onto a nearby jutting rock above the tree, and threw the bottle over a high limb. The branch bowed slightly but the rope and bottle remained secured. Getting back to the base of the tree, he tied the other end of the line to a lower branch.  
  
Sweating, Seth scrambled back up the cliff. His arms were scratched up, his jeans were soiled, and he had Gatorade spilt over his shirt front. He broke into a wide grin, "Camp Tocanhoe trained."  
  
Ryan smiled back and picked up a piece of stone mulch about the size of a golf ball, and threw it at the hanging bottle. Both boys fell into a rhythm, taking turns trying to smash the bottle. The best either could do was hit the bottle, making it swing. They worked in a companionable silence; the only sound being the rocks hitting the cliffs below and infrequently the successful clink of rock against the glass bottle.  
  
One of Seth's attempts was wildly off mark, landing well short of the tree. Ryan laughed, "Damn that sucks, Seth."  
  
"Calibration purposes." Seth smiled but didn't laugh aloud. "So it's good? We're good?"  
  
"It's not as good as a right hook to an open jaw, but it will do," Ryan replied.  
  
"Any jaw you have in mind? Like not mine?"  
  
Ryan looked at Seth considering his words. "We were good before you hung the target. I had my quota of climbing heights today. Thanks. Something else is on my mind – something ..." he said trailing off. "I saw Chester get slapped by his old man near the field today."  
  
"Oh my God, Jesus, and Moses. Chester Moore? You can't open a can of whoop ass on Mr. Moore. You can't," Seth said panicking. He took a deep breath and narrowed his eyes at Ryan. "He can hurt you, Ryan. Really, he's got money, he's got power, he can mess with your probation. He is one of Mom's major backers for her development. Wait! This can be my real challenge, let Clay be the muscle this time."  
  
Exasperated, Ryan interrupted. "Seth!" he said, then added in a normal tone, "Tell me about Chester."  
  
"He's becoming a Pod - heavily recruited anyways. He's a bit of a bully with other kids during land classes but they're all little shits to each other. He listens to me when it's just us taking Summer Breeze out. He's a good kid."  
  
"So is he 'accident' prone?" Ryan asked, trying to sound nonchalant without succeeding.  
  
"No, no way. I'd report that. He had a broken arm last year, but that was from a bike accident. I mean, I'd see it, wouldn't I? You'd probably be better at spotting that sort of thing." He paused. "Not that I meant anything by that. That that's good or bad or that you may or may not be better at spotting ..."  
  
"It did bring back memories of my dad whaling on me."  
  
There was a long silence, and Ryan sent a sideways glance at Seth. "I have no idea what to say but thanks for trusting me enough to share," Seth said softly.  
  
Ryan paused. "I know what you mean. I never know what to say when you talk about the polo team - peeing into your shoes ... What is there to say, right? Sucked but it's over."  
  
"Talking about it takes away their power: 'Verdant light must be shed over dark, evil things.' The Green Lantern, introduced in All American Comics #16." Seth spoke quietly, "But it's never over totally, is it? It's always going to be a part of me. And your history, a part of you." He cocked his head to the side and put on a wry smile. "Scary thought, but the polo team has helped to hone my scathing wit, polish my charm."  
  
Ryan looked at Seth, studying his face for clues on how seriously to take him. Then he dropped his gaze and spoke to the ground. "As a kid I thought I deserved my mother's rants, her boyfriends' ... shit. You see - I wished so badly for Dad to stop. Then Dad got locked up. Just desserts for my wish, don't you think?"  
  
Seth's face was ashen. "That is some messed up kid-think, Ryan."  
  
"Yeah, it's not right messing with kids." Ryan looked into the distance before continuing. "But we're not talking about me. It's over. I mean me, Trey, Dad, Mom, Fresno, Chino, it's over. But someone's gotta help Chester."  
  
"We should talk to my Dad. He's dealt with this stuff at work. They can send him to treatment, parenting classes, I don't know..."  
  
"You can't trust Child Services. They'll find some way to screw it up and it will be my fault for bringing it to their attention. I know, man. I've seen it happen too many times in Chino. They'll take the guy who makes one mistake and his children disappear, the weekly brawler gets a weekend anger management class."  
  
"This is Newport, Ryan. Money makes people careful to get it right. Dad will make sure of it."  
  
"It will be out of his hands once Child Services is involved."  
  
"Okay, let's not get ahead of ourselves. We only know of a slap. Let's keep an eye on The Chester. We'll put an RSPC on him – that's the Ryan- Seth Protective Cloak. Besides, I survived a few locker stuffings – not that that makes it okay. I'm just saying let's slow down and not act too hasty. Chester's living in a McMansion getting three gourmet squares a day, how bad can it be? Kids are tough. And now that we have the Cloak over him ..."  
  
Seth stopped mid babble, realizing Ryan wasn't with him. Changing tacks he said, "You're right. I trust you. I've got your back this time. We'll figure it out. And you, are you okay? I can't believe your dad, A.J, ..."  
  
"First, don't ever call them little shits. This is not about some jocks jacking off. This is not about how more money makes you love your kids more. This is especially not about me and my past," Ryan said tightly.  
  
"Come on, Ryan. I'm worried about Chester, too. But do you think it's a little bit about you?"  
  
Ryan turned and hurled his bottle against the back of the pool house. It shattered leaving a wet stain on the wall and broken glass below. But his voice held no emotion when he said, "No."  
  
Seth froze, scared, staring at Ryan. Then lightly Seth said, "Good. Excellent. Got it. But perhaps you doth protest too much?"  
  
"Seth, I only know my gut feeling - Chester needs help. Am I - are we going to be enough for him?" 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3  
  
Ryan was hungry; he'd skipped dinner last night. After assuring Seth that he was fine, it hadn't been hard to convince him to go visit Summer. Then Ryan had smoked the rest of his emergency only, backup cigarettes. He had briefly considered calling up Marissa but came to his senses in time. He wanted a distraction but not so badly he could pretend nothing had happened between them with Oliver. Sometime during a night of tossing in bed Ryan had decided to talk to Sandy in generalities. Then if it seemed like the right thing to do, he would tell Sandy the specifics of what he had seen between Chester and his dad.  
  
The decision to talk to Sandy and the requisite beautiful Newport morning made problems seem manageable. Now Ryan was in his element. The bacon was sizzling, the coffee was hot, and the potatoes and onions were fried to perfection. He'd beaten the eggs and they were ready for the skillet. Cooking was a matter of timing and demanded his full attention so there was no time to dwell on other things. He prided himself on getting everything to the table hot.  
  
"Hmm, is that bacon?" Kirsten asked entering the kitchen. She was still in her bathrobe.  
  
Kirsten's question, after many weekends of Ryan's customary breakfasts, was rhetorical. He wiggled an egg in the air and raised his eyebrows in a question.  
  
"Yes, please." Kirsten helped herself to a mug of coffee and settled herself at the counter.  
  
While Ryan tended to the eggs at the stove, Kirsten looked on contently. After a few minutes he plated four strips of bacon, a token bite of potatoes, and scrambled eggs and placed it in front of Kirsten.  
  
Kirsten smiled broadly. "Thanks, Ryan. Kind of quiet, we rarely have the kitchen to ourselves. A Saturday and Sandy's working early – he didn't even surf before going in!"  
  
Ryan fixed himself a similar plate and returned the smile. "Seth has a sailing lesson."  
  
Leisurely, they ate their breakfasts at the counter. Kirsten looked over work papers jotting down notes in the margins. Ryan read the Sports section. Occasionally an interesting article would cause him to pause thoughtfully, an empty fork poised against his lower lip.  
  
Finished with the section, Ryan got up and went to top off his mug with fresh coffee. "I hope it's okay – this is the last of the French roast."  
  
"That's Hailey's favorite. I'll pick up some more." Kirsten looked through the selection of bagels in the basket. "Bagel? There's sesame, salt, plain, and cinnamon."  
  
"All flavors accounted for?" Ryan asked with mock incredulity. "Hailey really isn't around."  
  
Kirsten smiled thinly. "It's been weeks and I haven't heard from her. I always thought, maybe naively, she could buy herself out of trouble. But this time she's tapped out her trust fund, Dad's cut her off, all her old friends are mad at her. Where is she going to live? What is she going to do for food?"  
  
As Kristen listed each of Hailey's dilemmas her voice rose in anxiety. "Can you imagine being alone in the world with no plan, no money? " She frowned into the vague distance and twisted her coffee mug in her hands. Then realizing that Ryan probably could imagine just that, she looked at him apologetically. She uttered a soft, "Oh ..."  
  
Ryan shrugged and busied himself with the coffee carafe, avoiding Kirsten's sympathetic looks. After an uncomfortable pause, he turned and looked directly at Kirsten and said thickly, "Hailey is lucky to have you guys." Ducking his head down he added, "I remember some names from her New Year's party I broke up if you want me to ask around ..."  
  
"No. Absolutely not! Ryan, we are not going to do this again. You are sixteen and my sister is an adult no matter how irresponsible. I can't save her, you can't save her, only she can." More evenly she said, "Ryan, I didn't mean to make it your problem when I told you my worries. I'm sorry I dumped all this on you."  
  
"No, of course. I was just offering to help. I wouldn't do anything without your okay." Kirsten forced Ryan to return her stern gaze until she was satisfied he knew how serious she was. Ryan tried to reassure Kirsten. "I ran away once, you learn to make do. Hailey is tough – she'll learn and be all right."  
  
"I hope you're right. Hailey is like a kid." Kirsten paused as she spread cream cheese over part of a bagel, an amused expression crossed her face. "At least Seth was eight when he ran away. He made it down to the pier and the manager called me. But for three hours we were out of our minds."  
  
"I lasted 3 days. I was ten, I think. Somebody noticed nobody was bringing in the mail, and made Mom get Trey to track me down." Ryan added sarcastically, "Well, at least I can say I tried to ditch her before she ditched me, huh?"  
  
Kirsten looked at Ryan for a long moment as if considering carefully what to say. "Your mom ... when she and I talked that morning ... She loves you very much but thought she was doing the right thing. Sometimes loves means letting go, too." Kirsten paused again, and then said haltingly but adamantly, "Just know we love you here. You have a family - but we're your family now, too. We're in your corner." She gently admonished, "Only I don't ever want to be your cut man again."  
  
Ryan's body was taut as he listened carefully to Kirsten, but only acknowledged the boxing reference with the slightest nod and faint smile. Kirsten continued, "I've always thought that if you knew with absolute certainty that someone supported you no matter what, you would be okay whatever the world throws your way. Mom was in our corner. I still feel her strength. She and Hailey look so much alike... I think Mom wasn't finished with Hailey yet. She died when Hailey was so young, still in high school."  
  
"Do you really think if a kid knows someone is in his corner he'll be okay even if other parts of life are shit? There's some magical balance you can put situations on to decide whether he's okay or not? On one side his dad's an ass but on the other side his mom is Carol Brady, even trade-off? It's hard to ask somebody to choose between family and a few knocks..." Ryan stopped abruptly, surprised to be thinking aloud. "I'm sorry about – the language, the ..."  
  
Kirsten looked confused, and she asked, "Ryan, what is this about?"  
  
Ryan shrugged casually. "It's nothing, really."  
  
Kirsten waited to encourage Ryan to elaborate. He didn't so she continued, "Well, what I meant was even though we knew Seth wasn't getting along in school, he knew we loved him. He told us what was going on, and we trusted that if it got to be too much he'd tell us. Or so we thought – talking never was a problem for him." She grimaced reconsidering, "But maybe we didn't have the right 'magical balance' and didn't see what he didn't want us to see. I didn't realize how unhappy he was until I saw how different he has been recently - since you've come."  
  
"Seth's cool." Ryan was uncomfortable now and exaggerated his interest in the newspaper he already read.  
  
Relenting to Ryan's desire to change the subject, Kirsten said, "Well, I hate to leave you boys alone two nights in a row, but we have a business dinner tonight. I would skip it except we have a big 'draw' coming up and all the principals will be at the dinner to be smoozed. I'll cook a special dinner soon."  
  
"Is this the draw for completing the model home? Now a higher line of credit will be available for completing the other houses in the development, right?"  
  
"Yes. Hey, you do know your stuff! I'll have to remember to take advantage of you, ask you to help out."  
  
"Sure. Anything I can do to make up for - well, burning it down." Ryan looked sick with guilt. He decided it was his turn to change the subject. "They still haven't forgotten Thanksgiving dinner. So maybe I can help you with dinner?"  
  
"Sandy was the one in charge of the turkey!" Kirsten replied hotly. Crossly she gathered up her papers and stood up. Then she sighed and said, "But it is nice being in the kitchen with you. Sometimes, it's impossible to get a word in with those two around."  
  
Seth entered the kitchen in time to overhear their last remarks. "Mom, Ryan, mutes no longer! And what great voices. C'mon you guys, gimme a B flat to tune to. Beeee flaaaaat," he sang purposefully off key.  
  
Kirsten looked faintly amused. "I thought you had a sailing lesson this morning. And you forgot the take out the trash last night."  
  
"Mom, that's sharp. Chester cancelled." Seth was speaking to his mother but looked at Ryan who stared back intently.  
  
Kirsten was oblivious to the tension. "Oh, little Chester. We're going to his house tonight. Dad and I are going to the Newport Better Business Bureau's annual dinner hosted by Chester's dad. I'll remember to ask about him."  
  
XXXXXXXXXX  
  
Kirsten, Seth and Ryan stood at the entrance to an imposing stone mansion.  
  
Kirsten eyed them skeptically. "Something is up. Why are you boys coming to this banquet full of old people again?"  
  
Seth said in a condescending tone, "Mother, Ryan is eager to learn the intricacies of better business bureau-ing. And of course he hopes to converse with Grandpa; both go-getters from modest means, they have a lot in common. Personally, I'm here for the crab and brie phyllo."  
  
"Hmmm. I'm going to find out what is up. And I better like it. I hope Sandy gets here soon – maybe he can worm it out of you guys."  
  
The door opened, and Kirsten was led away by an elegant woman.  
  
Seth grabbed Ryan's jacket to stop him from following. "Okay, Ryan. I need your baby blues on me. Lock on, buddy."  
  
Ryan narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Seth who continued, "We are here to check up on The Chester. You will not attack Mr. Moore or any other guest. Seriously, man, control is the key. Let's do this right for Chester ... and for you. The Oliver mess will not be repeated. I've got your six, okay?"  
  
"I thought B flat was the key." Ryan deadpanned. Seth stared at him, pissed. "Yeah, yeah, okay, man. I am not going fight anybody or make a scene at another fancy party. I promise. I just need to see Chester, talk to your dad, and we'll leave. Go have Balboa bars at the pier."  
  
Seth nodded and gestured for Ryan to step ahead of him into the house.  
  
They entered and surveyed more than fifty or so members of the Newport Business Bureau and their spouses in a large living room. The room opened on one side to an even larger formal dining room. The décor was traditional: dark mahogany furniture, floral upholstered sofas, and morose landscape paintings. As Kirsten predicted, the demographic was skewed toward the Viagra and Talbot set. Groups of older men with a sprinkling of women milled about with drinks in their hands.  
  
Seth and Ryan scanned the crowd for Chester and his dad without luck. "My best guess, Ryan, is that Chester's hanging outside. The folks will make him do the dog and pony show at some point so he's nearby. He's going to want to be near the food and abandoned cocktails." Seth walked toward the back of the room, weaving his way through the people. Ryan followed close behind.  
  
A man reached out and clamped Seth's shoulders. "Hi, Seth! This is a surprise; Kiki never tells me anything." Turning to the others he said, "Fellows meet my grandson. He's rearing to take over the commercial sector." Caleb and two distinguished men chuckled appropriately.  
  
The men shook Seth's hand and asked him questions. "Are you considering Berkeley, son? You know you can learn a lot from you grandfather, don't you?"  
  
"Yes thank you, kind robber barons. Please excuse us. Ryan and I are needed to help set up the, umm, thing in the backyard. They have this big – thing – planned for after the ceremonies. You'll really love it."  
  
"Hey, hey, not so fast." Caleb held Seth firmly by the elbow. He looked at Ryan with mild disdain, "You can go around back and help. Seth's needed to talk shop." Seth was trapped and looked at Ryan helplessly.  
  
Ryan nodded politely to group, grinned at Seth's pained expression, and walked away.  
  
He stood quietly just outside the doorway and scanned the backyard. No other guest was tempted by the outdoors. The back patio was similar to the Cohens' but looked down onto the bright lights of the city below instead of the ocean. An organic free-formed shaped pool and an impressive barbeque area were lit by strings of multi-colored lights and lanterned candles  
  
Chester was sitting quietly by the table near the grill. He was in a dark suit. As Ryan walked slowly toward Chester, he cleared his throat in warning.  
  
Chester surreptitiously dropped a cigarette on the ground and covered it with his shoe. Chester hunched deeper into his jacket but did not otherwise acknowledge Ryan.  
  
"Hey. Okay if I hang out here?" Without waiting for a reply, Ryan sat down next to Chester. Neither spoke nor moved for long moments. But Chester's eyes darted around considering escape routes.  
  
Ryan openly looked over Chester for injuries. There were no bruises on his face, but Chester's breathing was shallow and quick and there was a light film of sweat on his brow. Ryan wasn't sure if there was anything physically the matter with Chester, but Chester was definitely jumpy. "I'm ... a friend, a good friend of Seth's. He said you missed sailing today so he asked me to see if you were all right. You okay?"  
  
Chester ventured a quick, worried glance at Ryan.  
  
Ryan tried again with forced boisterousness, "Seth says you are a pretty good sailor; maybe the three of us can take the big scow out. I'm pretty awful but I can be the rail meat, huh?" Ryan self-consciously laughed at his own expense. "But you guys will help me out, right? 'Cause that's what friends do."  
  
There was no reaction from Chester.  
  
Ryan sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. He leaned forward in his chair. Chester flinched and drew back slightly at Ryan's movement, then his worry was masked again by suspicion. "Chester, throw me a bone. I'm not good with words or kids. How are you, man?"  
  
Without looking up Chester offered in a small nervous voice, "They needed help setting up the, umm, thing, so I had to miss sailing. Tell Seth I'm fine. You can go now."  
  
"Setting up the thing, huh? I can see why you and Seth get along."  
  
"Kaitlyn says you're Seth's foster brother." With a mix of awe and fear Chester stammered, "Sh-she said you stole a car and burned down a house." Chester warily watched out of the corner of his eye to see what Ryan's reaction would be.  
  
Happy for any dialogue with Chester, Ryan conceded, "Kaitlyn's kind of right. You're friends with Kaitlyn huh?"  
  
Sadly, he said, "She doesn't like me much. But I heard them talking. She doesn't sail because she might get wet. I bet the scow is big enough not to list and take on water ..."  
  
"Yeah, maybe we can all go. I've babysaa - I mean - hung out with Marissa and her sister before. I could ask Kaitlyn to come."  
  
"No Kaitlyn hates you, but she might go if Marissa goes." Then Chester shook his head pessimistically and added, "but I doubt it."  
  
Ryan hated to interrupt Chester's daydreaming but he could see that the living room was thinning out. In a short time, Chester would have to go join the other diners. Ryan spoke forcefully, "I want to talk to you about what I saw by the field. I grew up with a dad like yours." Ryan gathered his thoughts and said carefully, "He yelled a lot and ... hit sometimes."  
  
Ryan waited for a reaction. Ryan hoped he was wrong, that he read too much into what he'd seen by the field. That this kid didn't have scars or scars too deep to heal, ones like he had. Ryan's hands gestured in the air, trying to shape his feelings into words to convince Chester that he understood and cared.  
  
"Maybe you think you deserved it? He was tired from work? Had too much to drink? But he's wrong about you; you're a great kid. If you need someone, I'm here. Just to talk maybe?"  
  
With each question and comment Chester shook his head more violently. He whispered urgently, "You didn't see anything. Dad's.... You don't understand! There's my Mom and..." Chester's face was flush, and he pleaded, "You have to leave now."  
  
Ryan opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, trying words out in his mind first. Nothing seemed right but he said emotionally, "Are you afraid you'll get your dad in trouble? I swear we'll work it out." It was a promise to Chester and his younger self, and he didn't know how but he knew he would keep it.  
  
Chester jumped out of his chair, his sixty-some pounds belligerently faced Ryan who startled and put his hands up in surrender but remained seated. Chester shouted, "What do you know? Everyone says you're just Chino trash. You don't know anything about us." Chester shoved Ryan deeper into his chair. The motion made Chester gasp for air. He tried to take a deep breath and doubled over in pain, clutching his side. He moaned.  
  
Ryan gently guided Chester, still doubled over, back into a chair. Ryan was furious, a vein bulged on his forehead. He paced angrily, his hands clenching and unclenching. Berating himself he mumbled, "Damn it. Damn it. I should have come yesterday. I knew it!" He paused, rubbed a hand over his eyes wearily and looked at Chester.  
  
Chester hung his head low and was whimpering quietly, an arm wrapped protectively against his side. Ryan took a slow, deep breath, exhaled, and calmly kneeled in front of Chester. Hoarsely he said, "Hey, I'm sorry Chester." Ryan closed his eyes and bowed his head near Chester's. They stayed that way until Chester regained some composure, enough to have a controlled shallow breath.  
  
"That's right, breathe slowly. I think it's your ribs. They can't put a cast on it but some painkillers will help. If you don't move around it won't hurt as much. In a few weeks you'll be fine. I'm going to get Seth's dad now. Just to talk. We won't make you do anything you don't want."  
  
Chester looked up, scared, but seemed to be in too much pain to argue. "I'll be right back," Ryan said and placed a hand on Chester's shoulder reassuringly.  
  
As Ryan stood up, he came face-to-face with Mr. Moore. 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4  
  
Ryan automatically and quickly assessed Mr. Moore. He was close to a head taller and 70 pounds heavier than Ryan although most of the excess weight was fat. He didn't seem to be "on" anything – his eyes were clear and he didn't reek of alcohol. But Mr. Moore was poised for a conflict; he stood tall and tensed with his shoulders back, his face pinched and dark. He was an arrogant man who was used to getting his own way, and he was staring hard at Ryan.  
  
Ryan took a small step back from Mr. Moore and Chester. He kept his arms down and opened his hands, palms out in a show of non-violence.  
  
Without taking his eyes off of Ryan, Mr. Moore said sternly but evenly, "Chester get inside."  
  
Chester had been immobilized, his eyes wide, taking in the scene, but came to attention at his father's voice. Clutching his left side, he stood up and drew in a sharp breath. In a strained voice he asked, "May I be excused from dinner?"  
  
"Go."  
  
Chester cautiously stepped around his father and walked toward the door. He stopped and looked over his shoulder as the two men began to talk about him.  
  
"Don't come near my son again."  
  
"I didn't hurt your son." Ryan paused and with a hooded look he added bitterly, "You did. He needs to see a doctor."  
  
"Chester is my kid; I'll raise him as I see fit. We don't have weak men in our family; we have a place in society where people looks up to us. But what would you know about that? Don't think I don't know you're a delinquent that that liberal pinko Cohen took pity on."  
  
Ryan couldn't say anything, struggling to keep his temper. He tensed up and he couldn't hide the revulsion on his face. He hated Mr. Moore and all he represented – weak, ugly men who got their jollies hurting and humiliating children. It was a hate that burned hot in his gut and pulled on every nerve. It was all Ryan could do to keep it in check as he successfully fought to keep his arms to his sides and his hands unfisted. He remembered his promise to stay in control and the logical part of him understood and believed that Chester would be better helped without a fight. Chester was already seriously hurt. The balance was tipped; this was clearly a case where Sandy should step in.  
  
Ryan's only uncertainty was Chester, who stood watching them carefully. Ryan could only hope Chester understood why he was backing off. That it wasn't a betrayal – only a tactical retreat. Ryan meant every word of what he had said earlier.  
  
"Take it easy. I'm leaving now." Ryan walked around Mr. Moore, giving him a wide berth. But his voice dripped with disgust as he added under his breath, "Just know Chester's a stronger person than you'll ever be." Afraid to anger Mr. Moore, Ryan passed by Chester wordless, but he tried to give a barely perceptible, reassuring nod. He paused just before the door as he heard Mr. Moore begin to berate Chester.  
  
Mr. Moore's eyes had carefully followed Ryan's movements until Ryan went by Chester. Chester was staring at Ryan with an intense, hopeful expression. The look infuriated Mr. Moore, who shouted, "Damn it, Chester. Didn't I tell you to get inside?" He went up to Chester and poked a finger into the boy's chest and yelled, "What did you tell him? You think you can hide behind this kid like some pansy?"  
  
Mr. Moore's face was flushed with anger. Looking over at Ryan, he whispered threateningly, "I'll show you. Chester, who's boss?"  
  
"Dad, I just wanted to see how you treat Chino trash. I'm sorry ..."  
  
Ryan felt a familiar and awful sensation, of a situation spiraling out of his control. He interrupted Chester and pleaded, "Hey, let's all calm down. He didn't tell me anything – we're just talking about sailing. I'm leaving now." Ryan took an exaggerated sideways step toward the door, but his eyes frantically went back and forth from Mr. Moore to Chester. Ryan himself was anything but calm; he could feel the adrenaline pumping his heart ever faster. He was filled with dread – no matter how hard he tried things never went well.  
  
"Chester! Answer me!" Mr. Moore's voice rose threateningly.  
  
Chester looked down at his shoes. Quietly, he said, "The father gives the orders. The mother is his humble helper."  
  
Chester began to cry silently making Mr. Moore even angrier. He grabbed Chester by the shoulders and shook him. "And what are you Chester? How about a useless, stupid shit?"  
  
Before all the words were out of Mr. Moore's mouth, Ryan jumped between the two and shoved Mr. Moore away from Chester.  
  
The attack caught Mr. Moore off guard and he stumbled back against a chair.  
  
Ryan whispered in a cold rage, "Don't you ever touch him again! Don't you ever call him a little shit!"  
  
Mr. Moore seemed gleeful eliciting such a reaction from Ryan. He smiled as he regained his balance, grabbed Ryan by his collar and put all his weight behind a punch to Ryan's face.  
  
Ryan blocked some of its force with his left forearm but Mr. Moore's fist connected with his jaw and turned his head violently. Happily he punched Ryan again and again, this time in the ribs, this time to the chest.  
  
Ryan's instincts took over. He ducked under the next punch and wrapped his arms around Mr. Moore's, pinning his arms to his sides, stopping the blows. Then pushing himself away, outside of Mr. Moore's reach, he said in an anguished voice, "No, no, no. Let's not do this. I'm going home. I can't do this ..."  
  
Ryan's apparent surrender seemed to make Mr. Moore giddy. He sang bitingly, "I'll smack that useless little shit anytime I want!"  
  
The words triggered Ryan into delivering a frenzy of blows to Mr. Moore's middle. Ryan's attack was not considered; his hits were a furious and mindless motion, like those of a strong child in a tantrum. But they succeeded in silencing Mr. Moore. The man grunted as the air was knocked out of him and he fell to the ground.  
  
Chester's breathing was labored and he was openly crying now. He begged, "Stop, stop, please, stop!"  
  
But Ryan couldn't hear or see him. There was a louder roar in Ryan's head that demanded he strike back and destroy every black memory of helplessness. For every one of his dad's slaps, for each of his mom's drunken harangues, and for all the nameless boyfriends' punches and kicks, here was an opportunity to make amends. Now he could erase the aching stomachs brought on by the dread of his father coming home from another bar, now he had a place to put the anger that festered after the beatings. It wasn't just for him, it was for Trey and Chester, and unknown Chesters he couldn't think to help.  
  
Ryan could feel his knuckles make satisfying contact with the flesh of a hard cheekbone and with the soft gut under a dress shirt. He heard the moans and grunts of his many-faced enemy. But he was not conscience of where he was, not aware of whom he was facing, ... not able to see Chester as he threw himself between them to protect his father.  
  
Ryan struck Chester with a glancing blow to his temple. Chester fell to the ground at his father's feet.  
  
Ryan froze, blinking at the unacceptable scene before him, unable to believe he had hit Chester. Panting, he shook his head in slow jerking motions as if to make it go away. As he took a step back from the horror, he also reached out a shaky hand toward Chester but couldn't bring himself to touch him, afraid to do more harm.  
  
Mr. Moore, winded by the blows, stood up to a crouch, breathing hard. He seemed just as shocked as Ryan as they stood staring down at Chester. Chester laid on the concrete, curled up in the fetal position, silent. 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Even as Chester began to stir, Ryan was frozen in place. He-hit-Chester. A scrawny kid even for his age, Chester was the type who wouldn't harm a fly. And Ryan dropped him. Ryan's heart was pumping hard and he was out of breath, but he was also strangely calm. He couldn't quite hear what Mr. Moore was shouting at him, or move a muscle to save his life but he wasn't as surprised as he thought he might be over this huge thing. It was almost as if he expected such a moment in his life.

Sandy came up from behind and shook him by the shoulders. Ryan stared blankly at him and wanted to say something but he couldn't. There was nothing to do but let things take their natural course now. Whatever happened would be fine by him, maybe even make his life easier by taking away the hard choice of what to do about Chester's secret. Or if he had to go back to Chino, the pressure of trying to live up to Cohen standards.

Sandy left Ryan and knelt by Chester. He was helping Chester to sit up and murmuring consoling words when Mrs. Moore, Kirsten, and Seth rushed up. Somebody might have grabbed Ryan's arm, but he wasn't sure. Ryan watched the hazy group of people running around excitedly. The only thing that registered was Chester getting up, walking slowly away with Mrs. Moore and Kirsten's assistance. Ryan tried to catch Chester's eyes but the boy never looked his way.

Mr. Moore turned back to Ryan and poked his finger in his chest, glaring at him, then at Sandy. He also seemed to be screaming white noise. Sandy was red in the face, but was trying to get Mr. Moore to calm down. Ryan squinted and tried to concentrate on what they were saying, but the family dog wandered by taking a piss here and there and he couldn't help trying to guess where he might piss next.

Ryan felt annoying little tugs on his sleeve that wouldn't stop. "Yeah, yeah. Okay, what?" Ryan narrowed his eyes on Seth who was standing next to him. Ryan shook his head and blinked a few times trying to clear his mind and focus on what was happening. He could make out what Mr. Moore yelling now.

"Get that punk out of my house. He's not going to ruin my banquet, and I'll see that he is sent back to prison where he belongs. Get out!" Mr. Moore's combed over hairstyle was in disarray and his face was throbbing with angry veins.

Sandy walked over to Seth and said quietly, "Seth, I'm not sure what your mom's going to do. Tell her I took Ryan home in our car. If she went to hospital with them you may have to pick her up. You have the keys to the Rover, right?" Without waiting for Seth's reply, Sandy glanced at Ryan. "If they call the police, she'll know to tell them that's where we'll be."

Sandy pulled Ryan by the arm, and led him around the side of the house. Ryan let himself be dragged along but he looked back. Mr. Moore was heading for the door but kept an eagle eye on them as they left. Seth looked back at him, fighting back tears, worried and scared.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ryan, head hung low and shoulders slumped in defeat, lagged behind Sandy up the walkway. He looked up when Sandy stopped at the open front door. Their eyes met, and Ryan saw disappointment and questions he couldn't answer there. Ashamed, he dropped his gaze and slowed to a stop by the front stoop. He sat heavily on the bottom step, his back to Sandy. With only a moment's pause, Sandy joined him.

Just as they did on the drive home, they sat in silence for long, long minutes, neither moving nor looking at each other.

Ryan's face was just beginning to swell, and his eyes were red and itchy. Sandy's nice dinner jacket was rumpled and damp, his tie yanked loose.

Sandy started. "I don't get it Ryan."

Ryan didn't answer or otherwise acknowledge Sandy.

"Ryan, you have got to talk to me. Right now. I've got to know what we are facing."

In a rough voice barely above a whisper Ryan said, "I'm sorry."

"What happened? Seth practically drags me out back saying you need to talk to me. We see you beating the crap out of Mr. Moore. Chester...". Sandy's voice trailed off. "How could you hit a kid, Ryan? A kid."

"I never saw him; I didn't mean to hit Chester." Ryan's eyes were wet with tears but they remained mostly hidden in the dimly lit portico.

Sandy seemed to be at a loss of words. He ran a hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck. He repeated, "Talk to me."

Ryan cleared his thickened throat. "I was running the bleachers when I saw Chester's dad slap him and treat him like crap. That was yesterday afternoon. When he didn't show up for Seth's sailing lesson this morning, I had a bad feeling. Kirsten said you guys were going to their house so I decided to check him out. I was going to tell you everything as soon as you got there. Mr. Moore found us first."

Ryan thought of Chester with his goofy smile going on about Kaitlyn. Then the Chester he just left, frail and hurt. Ryan alternately balled each hand into a fist, pounding it into the open hand, and cracking his knuckles. Ryan's voice grew angry. "Chester already had broken ribs, and his dad started on Chester in front of me. What was I supposed to do? Stand there and let him get his ass kicked?"

"How about you step back, think for just one second, and get someone to help? Do you realize how this can affect you? Us?" Sandy shook his head in disgusted amazement. "What I saw – it scared me, Ryan."

Ryan didn't answer. In frustration, Sandy sighed and shook his head slowly, over and over.

"You need help, and I don't know if I know how. Maybe we need a professional."

Ryan inspected the injuries to his knuckles, delaying his reply. "I don't need a shrink. I already know how fucked up my childhood was. We don't need to spend your money for some doctor to get me to say it." He added bitterly, "I am an Atwood; I'm cursed, damaged."

"You're not damaged, but that doesn't mean you don't need help. What, you think it's okay for Marissa and weak Newport people to get professional help, but not the tough guy from Chino? Is that it?"

"What's gonna happen, Sandy? I messed up Chester – he would have been better off without the kind of help I offered. I have to fix that."

"Ryan! Damn it, no." Sandy said furiously. "You can't fix everything. You may have thought you were doing the right thing for Chester tonight, but look how it turned out."

Sandy sighed heavily again and ran a hand through his hair. He paused and seemed to consider his next words carefully.

"Didn't you get anything from the Oliver debacle?" Sandy said, "You may have been right about him but what you did wasn't right - you didn't need to break into the record room or beat him up in the student lounge. Do you get that?"

Sandy stared hard at Ryan as if willing him to see the logic in his argument. Ryan remained tense and silent.

Sandy let out an exasperated groan and rolled his head. "You need to start worrying about you. Chester is in the doctors' hands now. You're not some naïve kid so I'll tell you: money matters. The Moores have some weight around here. It's gonna take a lot of tap dancing to keep Child Services away from us. You will not go near Chester, his family, or any other kids until we figure this out. Understood?"

"I would never hurt any kid." Ryan shook his head and muttered under his breath, "I'm not like them."

"What?" Sandy asked, leaning closer.

Ryan didn't answer aloud, but he thought to himself, "_Like who? Like my sick-fuck of a Dad who liked to humiliate Trey and me? Like my mom's string of boyfriends who used us for punching bags? Like Mom who didn't care and just up and left me? Was this how they started, too? First grow up in some shit hole, inure yourself to commonplace violence - ignore kids slapped at the grocers and turn a blind eye to the sad neighbors with fat lips and angry husbands. Then, an accident becomes an indifferent string of accidents, becomes an enjoyable habit?"_

Ryan had to admit to a thrill, a rush of adrenaline that came with putting yourself to a test. Since his first successes in warding off schoolyard bullies and one of his mother's scrawnier boyfriends, he knew lofty non-violent platitudes were not meant for him or places like Chino. Each time he squared off he knew he could fuck somebody up or be fucked up. There was a simple pleasure in letting practiced reflexes take over, making tactical decisions unconsciously in a blurry but heightened state of mind. And afterwards the joy in standing over some asshole, aching and breathing hard, but knowing you had proven your point was pure.

Sometimes he knew beforehand he was going to get his ass kicked, but it was important to let Seth know he was willing to fight the polo team for him, to let Marissa know he would protect her, to let Trey know he was still family. But more often than not, it was as if a switch was pulled that set him off without these dainty pre-game analyses. Before tonight the fights had always been justifiable, futile and stupid maybe, but rational to his survivor's logic.

Tonight a darkness had come over him; he wasn't completely there when Chester was hit. He vaguely remembered his surprise when his fist hit something that wasn't part of the massive man. And maybe a yelp from Chester, but he wasn't sure. Maybe he imagined all this, reconstructed from the image of Chester lying so still on the ground. A renewed wave of guilt came over him. His dad would sometimes apologize and feel bad afterwards, too. Ryan's head pounded and his stomach ached. Accident or not, there was no escaping the fact that he was already one of _them_; he had hit a child. Ryan's already tense body trembled at this undeniable conclusion and he fought to keep it together.

"Ryan? Hey, Ryan?" Ryan could sense as much as see that Sandy was staring at him with new concern.

Ryan stood up, moving a few steps away from Sandy's prying eyes. He dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands to take his mind off of the picture of Chester falling to the ground.

Sandy stood up as well. "Hey, Ryan... I understand what you're going through. Adjusting to a new place, a new family, is always hard. Newport? Not good with the plebeians like us. I've seen lots of kids working at the DA's office and, trust me, things do get better."

Awkwardly Sandy gently reached out touching the boy's arm, trying to pull him into an embrace. Ryan shook him off abruptly and turned to him.

"So I'm a statistic? One that your DA's office says the shrinks will, statistically speaking, make Little Orphan Ryan all better, huh? You can't possibly understand. Really, you've got some nerve '_like us'_." Ryan's face was flush. He began pacing a few steps in each direction at the bottom of the steps. "Seth told me you're mad that your dad took off? Hell, Trey and I celebrated when we went a week without shit from Dad. And I'll bet your mom didn't decide on a fifth of Jack over a bag of groceries. Dealt from the same deck? You and me - we are barely in the same game."

Sandy opened his mouth to speak, but Ryan raised his hand to cut him off. He shook his head and laughed sarcastically.

He paced some more, blowing off the steam from his speech. Then he paused and tilted his head, looking up, to help him remember the facts straight. "Well, here's my office's statistic: The U.S. Department of Health and Human Services estimates one third of those abused become abusers. Much better odds than we got in The Vegas."

They looked at each other in a sort of isolated stalemate for a few moments. Sandy's eyes were filled with tears and he shook his head sadly.

Ryan slowly relaxed his defensive posture and sighed. He said quietly, "You think some talk therapy will kill the monster in me, but I think the apple didn't fall far enough from the tree. I'm sorry."

Sandy seemed genuinely shocked, his face contorted in pain. "That's crazy. You are the most empathetic, caring teenager I know. Nothing is a given, Ryan. You would **never** hurt a child intentionally. It's the lawyer in me that insists you stay away so we don't give them any more ammunition. Know this: the father in me doesn't believe your crap for a second."

"Sandy, maybe it's better that I go into Child Services. I won't run away this time. Everything I touch turns to shit. You guys have been so good to me; you've already done too much. I don't want to drag you into my mess."

"We don't jettison trouble in this family; we help."

Ryan was surprised to find tears running down his face freely, and he turned away from Sandy. He wasn't sure why he was crying, but he couldn't stop shaking either. He didn't know what to do or say and he couldn't think anymore. He leaned against one of the pillars.

The headlights of a car momentarily caught the two. Ryan drew a deep breath and turned toward the house. "Getting cleaned up," he mumbled.

Sandy gave Ryan a reassuring pat on the shoulder as the boy rushed by. "We're gonna figure this out together," Sandy called after him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ryan looked up as Seth gave a cursory knock on the pool house door before entering. Seth was still in his dinner clothes without the jacket. He looked exhausted.

"Hey man." Seth scrutinized Ryan. Ryan was freshly showered, his wet hair still matted down. His face was swollen and the bruises were a mottled purple.

Ryan was putting away his shoes and dirty clothes, moving with some difficulty.

"Hey." Ryan tried to reassure Seth and stop him from asking too many hard questions with a level look.

Seth made himself comfortable on the bed; he was sprawled on his back staring at the ceiling. "I really did have your back, you know. You could have come to get me." Seth's tone was light but there was no mistaking the sharp edge of an accusation.

"Yeah. I know."

Seth remained silent, his lips pursed tightly.

Ryan paused and turned to Seth. He attempted a quick a smile. "Let me make a sacrificial offering, or do you a huge favor? Steal a rock from the kung fu master, kill the Jabberwocky, 'Evil Knevil' Mount Doom or something?"

"Ha. Okay, point taken." Seth continued to stare at the ceiling while Ryan returned to meticulously hanging his suit back on its hanger. He placed it on a wall hook so Rosa could see to take it to the cleaners. He folded the dirt-stained tie into the jacket pocket, but left part of it sticking out so it would be noticed. After he couldn't think of any more chores, he sat on the chair opposite the bed.

In a quiet and choked voice, Seth asked, "Don't you want to be with us? 'Cause sometimes it doesn't seem like it, dude." Before Ryan could reply, he added, "I've seen you fight like a billion times now. But it was the first time your freak out scared the shit out of me."

Ryan leaned forward in his chair and said earnestly, "Of course I want to stay. When your folks invited me to stay, it was the best thing that ever happened to me." Ryan exhaled loudly. "I don't know what happened. It's like I could not - not do something. I promised myself... I don't know. It would be like saying that that same shit that happened to me was okay." The last words were rushed as if to minimize the confession. Ryan sunk back into the chair. "How's Chester?"

Petulantly, Seth said, "Yeah, well you promised me, too, that you wouldn't get in a fight." Seth sighed. "Chester's getting help. When Dad and I saw your Incredible Hulk impression, he told me to get Mom. Mrs. Moore was with her. Mr. Moore told her to take him to the doctors so they scurried off."

"Good. Doctors will raise the red flag – kids ribs are hard to break without a being in car accident or really trying to. Too elastic or something."

Seth sat up. "Ryan, I'm not sure I want to know why you know that... Anyway after they left, Mr. Moore and Mom squared off. She got all dragon-woman on him and he continued with the dinner. We left early but Mom MC'd his welcoming speech so no one would stare at him with makeup. His shiner sort of matches yours, by the way. Mom was impressive, but that's not the end of it. They're meeting next week." Both boys were somber at the thought.

"Well, come on. The concerned denizens are nuking a late dinner."

The two teens made their way across the backyard. Mid way there they could hear parts of a loud conversation between Sandy and Kirsten from the open kitchen window.

"Sandy, Mr. Moore said Ryan attacked him and broke Chester's ribs. He's pressing charges! We could lose him."

There were muffled voices then Sandy said indignantly, "... been hurting Chester. Ryan doesn't hit children."

"Of course. But the point is will they believe it?" Kirsten's voice was shrill with worry.

There were kitchen noises, and then "... in over our heads?" Sandy asked. "I've got to tell you I was too scared of him to step in. Honey, I was frozen and couldn't help." His voice dropped, "We definitely need to think about professional help. And I gotta talk to Seth and make sure he's okay. He must be really upset, too. I guess we all are." There was a loud clatter of a dish shattering on the ceramic floor, curses, and then a flurry of sounds related to cleaning it up.

Seth closed his eyes and shook his head, gesturing toward his parents, as if to say their conversation was ridiculous. He said loudly, "So are you hungry, Ryan?"

Ryan's expression was inscrutable. His heavy legs followed Seth inside.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"I've had your case for less than three months and you're on my radar. You don't want to be on my radar." Despite her words, the parole officer's voice lacked real heat, especially for someone who probably spent the day with recalcitrant delinquents and paperwork. Red and tired eyes were the only indication of the late hour, 6 p.m.

Ryan returned her less than warm greetings with a sheepish half smile. He sat in a hardback chair opposite the desk, which overflowed with stacks of papers and remnants of a fast lunch. Ryan was relieved this meeting was underway because any move toward any kind of resolution had to be better than the constant worrying everybody was doing. Sunday had been excruciating; he had been pigeon holed separately by Sandy and Kirsten with long, understanding, but stern lectures. When he wasn't being lectured to, he had ignored all the advice he had just been given, and been consumed with worry for Chester and guilt over the problems he was causing. School today had been a lost blur.

Ryan studied his parole officer with stolen glances. She was in her late 50s and screamed ex-hippie: her gray hair was pulled back in a ponytail, her open face needed a touch of makeup, and her print dress was made of comfortable cotton – probably organic. He had only met with her once before for a regular check-in scheduled before the Oliver disaster. She had seemed reasonable but there was no telling how she would react to his most recent offense. The office was small, dominated by a desk and a few filing cabinets. Two colorful posters advertising ballet troupes and an amateur flower painting hung haphazardly on the walls.

Ms. Harrow took a few moments and flipped through pages in the manila folder. "I'll say this: you really know how to mess up a sweet deal." She closed the folder and put her reading glasses on top of her head. "And we're here today because of a new police report. What's going on with you?"

Ryan waited as long as he dared, then shrugged helplessly. He saw a kid getting beat up and stopped it. It was simple to him, but Ryan knew other people didn't see it like that so he kept his mouth shut. They would take anything he said as an invitation to dig up old history, which should stay buried. And that would drag the meeting out without changing anything that mattered like how to help Chester or stop bothering the Cohens. Besides, he was resigned to whatever they decided should happen to him.

"Not an Oprah fan? Fair enough. But this latest report is one in a long line; something isn't working. Even in Chino you didn't have this level of activity; there you had a truancy problem and a couple of fights over a number of years." She paused delicately. "What is setting you off here? I find it hard to believe you can get into less trouble where you were from."

Ryan raised his eyebrows skeptically, but kept his doubts to himself.

She opened the folder back up. "You've been with your new guardians for 6 months after a stealing a car with your brother – pled down to a misdemeanor with probation. Arson and trespassing charges, dropped. Fighting another resident in juvie - cutting out the chase there, hmm?" She brought her glasses back down and flipped a few pages. "Questioned in regard to a gun discharge which hit a classmate in the arm. Suspended for breaking into the school offices, and beating up another student. Now, an assault charge. Did I get it right? And I'll bet lots happened that didn't make it onto your sheet."

There was no reaction from Ryan.

Ms. Harrow sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose between her eyes. "I hate fishing, but if I have to I prefer doing it in a straightforward way. Substance abuse can exacerbate other problems... do you have a problem with drugs? Drinking? This other boy you beat up last month - are these two boys related to a bigger problem at the new school?"

She spoke slowly, waiting between her questions for a reaction. "Maybe your sweet deal is not so sweet - you keep jeopardizing it. Miss your old friends? How is the family you are staying with treating you? Problems with the other children?" She referred to her notes again. "One male, aged seventeen. It can't be fun to be a second class citizen."

"Maybe he's pushing you around?" Ryan tried to suppress a smile at the image of Seth throwing a punch his way. Seth got his way with his constant chatter, not fists.

"Is this funny?" Ms. Harrow asked archly.

"No, ma'am," Ryan said quickly.

"I've seen it all, even in fabled Orange County – how about the dad? Maybe he gets a little impatient?" Ms. Harrow's question was heavy with innuendo.

"No! I mean no, they're all good people." The last thing he wanted was to cause more trouble for the Cohens. Accusations of Seth pushing him around or Sandy raising a hand to him had to be squashed immediately. "They're too good to me."

"Too good?" Her eyebrows rose with the question. Without a response she continued, "Tell me what's happening."

Ryan's shook his head in frustration. "What do you want me to say? I screwed up again. It's all in the file."

"So you say no drug troubles, home or school troubles, but trouble finds you. The most recent charges are serious: assault and battery of a father and his son. Are the files right about that too? You beat up a kid less than half your size?"

Ryan's face got hot and he laced his fingers together tightly in his lap. He sucked in his breath and held it, the heinous accusation hanging in the air.

Ms. Harrow locked her face grimly. "Ryan, I've got a case load of 100 juveniles ranging from bored suburban kids caught on a wild night to gang bangers in and out of juvie since they were out of diapers. What about you? A great opportunity, an elite private school and nice zip code. Do you appreciate this? Because I'd rather not have you cost the taxpayers another stay in our rehabilitation center and then take a space in our crowded foster care system. But I have to think about what's best for you and," she paused and added, "the people you get mad at and strike out against. Can you say anything to help me decide?"

Ryan hung his head. Of course he wanted to stay he yelled silently. Juvie was no joke. The punk who beat on Ryan and hit on Kirsten may be gone but there were plenty just like him. But how could he ask for such a gift? To say aloud that he, Ryan Atwood, deserved to live with the Cohens and spend their money only to repay them by dragging them into his mess? He ought to do the right thing and tell Ms. Harrow to send him where she thought best.

"Sometimes people make a plea for help without even knowing that they are."

Ryan refused to break his silence, and adopted a dark broody stare into space. Ms. Harrow slapped the folder against the desk in irritation. "As your parole officer I don't need to wait for the criminal investigation to decide you are already a danger to society. Do you get this? If you are going to assault the president of Orange County's Better Business Bureau again, why should I risk losing my job to let you stay out on parole?"

The silence ticked by slowly. Ryan wanted to deny himself what he so desperately wanted, but he was weak and selfish. "Okay, okay. I want to stay," he said almost angrily as if she were forcing him to confess to a crime. It hurt him physically to admit how much this new family meant to him. His muscles tensed and his stomach ached. Sometimes it was easier to smash the prize before they could take it away from you, or like sour grapes, pretend you never wanted it in the first place.

And sometime you had to put faith in people like the Cohens, that they would put up with you and not abandoned you in times of trouble, like others had. "Please. I swear I won't get into another fight." Ryan's voice was strained as he talked down to his boots.

Ms. Harrow allowed Ryan a moment to gather himself. She said, "Tell me about this police report."

Ryan took a deep breath. "The kid, Chester, goes to Harbor also, but in the 5th grade. During a party at his family's house, I found out Chester's dad had broken his ribs. I got into it with his dad when he started knocking Chester around again. I didn't see Chester step between us, and I clipped him." Ryan looked directly at her and said earnestly. "I didn't mean to hit him."

"Ryan whether I believe it was an accident or not, you can't go around beating people up who get in your way. These things happen because you lose control." She let her words sink in and the room was quiet.

A knock on the door interrupted the silence. "Hello. Parking is harder to find than a real bagel in California. I hope I dropped Ryan off on time?"

"Sandy Cohen! Our office worked the Simone case together awhile back – five kids living out of dumpsters while the parents vacationed in Bali – newspapers had a field day."

Sandy smiled broadly. Shaking her hand turned into a light hug. "I remember the older girl was already on parole with you for shoplifting, what a tough case. How are you doing, Maris?" Sandy asked taking a step back.

"Fair to middling. The DA office must not be busy if you're driving out to visit humble POs." She laughed in a good-natured manner.

"You must be out of the loop. I left the DA months ago." He stood next to Ryan and put a hand on his shoulder. "Kirsten and I are Ryan's guardians."

Ryan saw out of the corner of his eye that Sandy was grinning like a proud new father. Ryan was a little embarrassed by Sandy's display of affection. And maybe a little pleased by it, too. He had expected to have the spotlight on him tonight when they grilled him about fighting, but being under the glow of parental affection was a new thing and he didn't know how to act. Also, he didn't want Ms. Harrow to think Sandy was a soft touch and that Ryan was playing him.

There was an awkward pause. And then Ms. Harrow said, "Great. Good for you both." She looked back and forth between the two. "I'm slipping; I saw your name in Ryan's folder and automatically put it in my mind as his public defender."

Sandy said, "I'm sorry we didn't meet as soon as Ryan's file was transferred to Newport; Kirsten drove Ryan to his last meeting. With this incident I thought the best thing to do was meet directly and clear things up." Sandy pulled up the only other chair in the room next to Ryan's and sat down.

"Sandy, maybe we should talk alone?" She looked pointedly at Ryan.

Ryan said, "I have a right to know what's going on."

Sandy stared at Ryan for a moment, then nodded at Ms. Harrow.

She handed Sandy the report and was all business. "The mom has admitted Dad's been rough with their son in the past. The doctors have records of previous injuries that are suspicious. She claims she didn't know how bad things were. Debbie in Child Services thinks she's been battered, too. But the son isn't collaborating."

"Debbie can spot them. And the kid is just scared."

"Moore has charged that it was Ryan. Not just the punches Ryan has admitted to against the father and the one to Chester, but breaking Chester's ribs."

Sandy sighed. "He said as much to my wife. I filed Ryan's statement this morning countering his claim. Chester is safely in his mother's custody. He'll talk when he feels safe." Sandy pulled a seat right up against the parole officer's desk. "Ryan's been through a lot, but I feel we're turning a corner. Sometimes there's chaos right before the calm, and that's where we are. Kirsten and I are determined to keep a closer eye on things from here on out. Maris, I don't want to put you in an awkward spot here between our friendship and your professional duties, ... but hell, if that's what it takes to keep Ryan, I'm calling in any chips I may have." Sandy's eyes pleaded, boring into the parole officer, and he eagerly leaned toward her to hear his case.

Ms. Harrow grimaced. "The criminal investigation will continue, and it may come out in the wash that Moore hurt his son. But Ryan has a hair trigger release and it's going to get him in real trouble sooner or later. His evaluation indicated a possible history of family violence. That puts him at risk." She looked at Ryan before continuing.

Ryan scowled and shrugged evasively. It seemed to him everyone always wanted him to act a certain way or say a certain thing, and it was hard to know what it was they wanted. He knew from experience, unless he was sure what they wanted it was better to not commit.

She continued. "Honestly, if he weren't with you I'd have to wonder about his placement. He's been in violation of his probation more than once. Sandy, I know your family can get things done in this town, maybe even sweep this away. But if you don't deal with this now it might get worse and Ryan will be the one to suffer."

"Maris, Kirsten and I had a small talk with Mr. Moore this morning." Ryan's eyes widened in surprise; he thought they were meeting later this week. Sandy continued, "If Moore complies with Child Services, and Chester is safe we won't say anything about his abuse to anyone. In exchange, he backs off of his accusations against Ryan. If he doesn't, his business is no good in this town. Kirsten and the Newport Group are behind this 100 percent."

Ryan frowned, first Sandy asking for favors and now Kirsten putting the Newport Group's weight on his side. His tally sheet was extending to far more than running shoes.

Sandy said, "The updated report will reflect this."

Ms. Harrow pursed her lips tightly. "If this news slips out, there will be real pressure for Mr. Moore to deflect it onto Ryan. Moore is no lightweight in this town either. It could be my job on the line, and they'll want to know why I didn't fix it before it was a problem. And on paper your new son has problems."

Sandy voice rose with conviction. "You're right; Ryan is our son now, a part of our family and it would rip us apart if you took him away." Ryan's eyes flickered up to Sandy, not sure how seriously to take his comments. Sandy certainly was a great lawyer who knew what to say to win his cases.

"Maris, you know better than I do that you can't decide things based on what's written in a report. He's been through some hard times with his troubled family, but he's made it out with his compassion intact. He's got great grades in one of the most demanding schools. He gets into stupid scrapes, but it's always with the most selfless intentions. He's not all about the parties, the easy, apathetic road like most of the plastic people in this town. He's why we got into this field; he gives us hope in the midst of too much ugliness."

Ms. Harrow narrowed her eyes on Sandy, assessing him. "I can get burned on this, but okay; he can stay with you for now. My hands will be tied if Moore turns up the heat. I'm requiring regular therapy or anger management counseling." She swiveled her focus onto Ryan. "I want a real effort there; don't just show up."

Ryan nodded solemnly. His heart quickened at the sudden turn of his good fortune. An anger management course didn't seem too bad, especially compared to juvie.

"You are also ordered to stay away from Chester and his family."

"Yes, ma'am." Ryan nodded grimly. Ryan resolved to not make any more trouble for Sandy and Kirsten no matter what. He was also happy now that he knew Chester was safe and getting help.

Sandy reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an envelope. "Great. Now that that's settled, you can help me take care of these tickets going to waste: Richard Nixon's library here in Orange County has expanded. There's a rededication celebration."

Ms. Harrow burst out laughing, "Me in Republican territory?" She took the envelope from Sandy and read, "American Ballet Company's visiting here at Segerstrom Hall – front row seats." She shook her head and smiled. "I can't be bribed so cheaply, but I'll be glad to say hello to the principal dancer, Ethan Stiefel, for you."

Ryan said his goodbyes while the mood was still good and stepped outside to wait while Sandy and Ms. Harrow went over logistics and paperwork. The night air was crisp, and a cigarette would have been a perfect accompaniment to his state of mind. But as a part of his new resolve he was really going to quit again. Plus, he wasn't sure how long Sandy would be.

Sandy walked out the door a few minutes later with a big grin. "We dodged a bullet, my friend." He held up his knuckles to be knocked, and Ryan cheerfully obliged. They walked toward the car.

Ryan stopped right before the car. "Sandy, I want to, well, say thanks." Ryan jammed his hands deep into his pockets and kept his head down.

Sandy pulled him off balance in a quick hug with a few manly slaps on the back. "Yeah, well, smoozing is in my blood. We still have a lot of work ahead of us. Let's get Kirsten and Seth, we'll celebrate." He was already pulling out his cell phone.

Ryan looked at Sandy through his hair that fell over his forehead. "No, wait. I have to say this... I said some things to you that night. About you not 'getting' my life." Ryan folded his arms around his middle and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I was an ass. It doesn't matter who had it worse, it's what you're doing for me and all those other kids you helped in the DA office that matters. I had no right to judge you."

"Dialogue is good no matter how loud. I have no right to presume I know how you feel." Sandy rubbed his jaw. "Not in the same game, huh?"

"I'm glad for it, I don't want anyone to go through what I did."

"With all these words demanding to bubble out you're a natural for therapy, am I hearing you right?"

Ryan shifted uncomfortably. "Freud is over-rated, very 20th century."

"Anger management it is then."

"Yeah, how bad can that be?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Author's note: Sorry for the long delay in updating. Real world logistics had me bogged down.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"Let's go. Now, Ryan!"

The words reminded him of his mother's in front of juvie. But that was as far as the comparison of the two women went. Kirsten's impatience seemed to be hiding a thick layer of amusement.

"Kirsten, the counselor said it **might** be a good idea to exercise. He didn't mean yogalates at a country club. I'm thinking a nice run would be a better way to go."

"No. This is exactly what he meant and it wasn't a suggestion. Non-strenuous, slow yoga-like exercises can relax your muscles and make you feel much calmer. We're lucky they have a rolling admission here." Ryan trailed behind Kirsten who stood just outside the club doors.

"There are lots of people in there, the kind of people where something always goes wrong for me. I should wait for something to open up at the Y."

The local YMCA had an anger management course, and the first two Thursday meetings had turned out to be surprisingly bearable. The counselor in charge had been a humorless man with some practical advice about anger control. The group consisted of four teenaged boys including Ryan and one girl. Although the counselor had made the group talk about their past and how it related to their anger problems, he hadn't belabored it. Ryan wasn't going to mention the exercise component, but Kirsten had met with the instructor after the first class. Unfortunately the Y's yoga classes were filled up so here he was in front of Kirsten's club.

"What could happen in a yogalates class? A pulled muscle?"

"Please, Kirsten. Let me wait. This doesn't feel right." He hated whining but he hated the idea of yoga in front of Kirsten and a bunch of Newpsies even more.

"Ryan, I know how you might feel out of place here, but it's practical - we can carpool."

Ryan's head fell. He felt guilty about having someone drive him to sessions or borrowing their car. It was too far to bike and bus service from the Cohen house was spotty.

Kirsten said, "You said you'd give counseling a sincere try, that includes this part of it." Kirsten looked at Ryan's expression, which was as a close to a pout as he ever had, and took pity on him. "Try it for two classes and if you still hate it, we'll wait for the Y classes to start up. Fair?"

Ryan nodded glumly. He could only be grateful Seth wouldn't witness his humiliation. After learning about Ryan's exercise requirement, Sandy had dropped his joyful repetition of the word 'yogalates' but Seth had taken it up with louder glee. As for anger management jokes, Ryan could tell Seth hadn't been satisfied with coming up from behind and startling him by shouting, "anger control check!" The third time Seth tried that and his parents weren't around, Ryan punched Seth in the chest. With a grin Ryan had pulled the punch but left enough for Seth to feel there could be more. "Lucky for you, system checked," Ryan had said. Seth had frowned and squinted at Ryan, rubbing his chest in exaggerated pain. Ryan could tell Seth was really concocting new methods of torture for Ryan.

Kirsten held some things out to Ryan and said, "Here. I got you a mat, a stretch band, and some yoga pants. Hurry up and get changed, the class starts in 10 minutes."

Ryan eyes opened wide, and he stepped back from her offer with horror. "Tights? No way. Running shorts - it's a good look."

"No, not tights. I knew you might make that mistake but see they're black." She opened the bag to show him. "Very masculine, more like sweat pants but closer fitting. Ed – he's our instructor - has to be able to correct your form and that's what he wears."

Ryan looked doubtfully at the 'closer fitting pants' but reluctantly took the bag and other items. "I feel a debilitating 'Ed-ache' coming on."

Kirsten tried to reassure him with an easy laugh but added, "We can always exchange them for a pink tutu."

xxxxxxxxxx

Ryan, dressed in black tight tights that revealed way too much, stood outside the room with only minutes to spare. He had briefly debated bailing on the class but promises were promises. He was being ridiculous; it would be awkward but over in an hour.

He took a deep breath and entered the room. It was spacious, surrounded by mirrors and ballet barres. Twenty or so 'beautiful people', some with and some without surgical assistance to become a member of the 'beautiful people' were arranging themselves for the class. Ryan looked resentfully at the only other two men in the class. They wore shorts. Next time, if there had to be a next time, he would be wearing shorts.

Kirsten looked up from her Newpsie friends, grinned and waved at him. As she moved to come over to him, he shook his head and sent her a pained expression. Kirsten returned the same frown she gave Seth when he refused her smothering attentions, but nodded her understanding. Seth had taught him some things about dealing with hovering parental units, a completely new experience for Ryan.

Ryan wanted to get through yogalates anonymously. He kept his head down as he scouted for a spot in the back of the class. As he staked his claim with his new mat, a couple of women to either side of him gave him lingering and appraising looks. He tugged on his shirt to stretch it as low as it would go. The mousy brunette on his left surprised him by taking a deep breath as if preparing to say something to him, but he casually turned his full attention to the instructor.

The instructor, Ed, was standing quietly with a beautific smile in the front of the room. He wore tights that matched Ryan's. Ed brought together the palms of his hands in front of his heart, and lightly bowed his head. "Namaste: the God in me greets the God in you. I see a few new faces, but not to worry. We all go at our own pace here. Listen to our bodies and we can't go wrong."

He spoke as the class settled down. "Yoga is an eastern Indian tradition that focuses on strength, flexibility, and spirituality. Pilates focuses on building strength in the deep muscles of the abdominal region, the body's core. Today let's strive for this in meditative mindfulness."

"We start with breathing; exhaling the stresses of our daily life, and inhaling the loving energy around you." His voice was modulated and soothing. "Sitting up tall, place one hand on your stomach over your navel and the other on the side on your rib cage. First inhale into the stomach and feel the hand protruding outward and exhale drawing the abdominals in towards the spine. This is Lateral Thoracic Breathing."

Feeling ridiculous, Ryan mimicked those around him. Ryan realized how drastically his life had changed since coming to Newport – Trey and the guys would never let him live this down. He knew he needed to be different in Newport, but in the back of his mind he had this stupid idea that he couldn't let himself get too soft in case he ever had to go back to Chino. That reasoning reminded him of the assignment given in last night's anger management class: list why he unconsciously might not want to change his ways of dealing with anger. But Ryan wasn't sure if he would share this idea, not sure how it would go over with the counselor.

Ed interrupted his thoughts by continuing class. "Now hold the abdominals in, keeping them strong, and inhale into the ribcage, exhale and release without releasing the abdominals."

Ryan laughed to himself and wondered what Kirsten had been talking about. She had come home exhausted and fussing about how hard the yogalates class had been. People paid money to have someone teach them to breath? Besides a nice run, his idea of a workout was a makeshift weight room Trey had set up under a tarp in the yard. Arturo and the guys would come over and they'd talk shit as they worked out, spotting each other and egging each other on to lift more. He remembered being teased by the guys when he started to show results, hints of ripped abs. Ryan had an idea the comradarie would not be the same here.

After Downward-Facing Dog, Bow Pose, and using the resistance bands, Ryan was exhausted and sweating buckets. He changed his mind about yogalates. Sun Salutation had his arm muscles shaking. His sleeveless shirt and new tights were drenched, and his hair was matted to his forehead. He lost track of time as he concentrated on how this bones were aligned and what muscles groups he was using. His bare arms were coated with a fine layer of sweat, but his breathing was even and unstrained. If this was the zone of mindfulness, he enjoyed it.

Ryan was in the Warrior pose where his legs were extended and his arms reached out in opposite directions. "Excellent form!" the instructor marveled as he adjusted Ryan's hips to be slightly more open. Ryan looked up at himself in the mirror and felt the blood rushing to his face as he felt the room of women staring at him. Maybe he was being paranoid, but he thought he heard a few whispered titters. He fell out of the zone.

Fortunately they were back to mat exercises and warming down and he could be inconspicuous again. He realized how strong these Newpsie women were now, and was suspicious of all those times they asked him to haul boxes and lift things for them at charity events.

"Jai bhagwan, I honor the light within you. Thanks everyone." Ed bowed again. The class reciprocated and everyone began to pack up.

Ryan headed for the door but was intercepted. "Love your form, too. New to the club?" The platinum blonde woman's nails dug into Ryan's arm. "Drinks?"

Ryan smiled, amused by the attention. He cocked his head to the side considering what she had said. "Thanks. Yes. No." He was used to harmlessly flirting women, and was in a good mood after surviving class.

Kirsten and Julie walked up to them.

"Ryan." Julie Cooper arched her eyes at him in distaste.

Ryan nodded.

"Julie," the platinum blonde said.

"Kip Roberts," Julie said, "your husband is really good." Julie tapped her chin.

"You're Summer's mom?" Ryan yelped.

"No. Summer's dad's wife. Who are you?"

"He's my sixteen year old son who has high school Monday!" Kirsten was red in the face.

Julie turned her head to Summer's step-mom as if fascinated by a new idea. Julie said cattily, "Fascinating drama, but I've got to run. Coo-coo-ca-choo." Julie waved as she left to pack her things.

Mrs. Roberts walked away, feigning indifference.

"I told you it was not a good idea for me to come here," Ryan whispered crossly.

"I know you're a bit of a fish out of water here, but I didn't think you'd be jailbait."

"I didn't know you were going to pimp me out with tighty tights. Kirsten, the other guys had normal shorts on!"

"I thought you would be more comfortable. Admit it, you loved yogalates. I saw you and you're a natural. _Excellent form,_" she mimicked the instructor. "Three months working my ass off here, and he's never complimented me. And I have the prettiest Pony Pose!"

Ryan laughed. "When you got it, you got it. What can I say?"

"Say that after showers you'll meet me in the juice bar in 15 minutes?"

"Famous."

They turned for the door and were met by Mrs. Moore, there for the next class. She nervously looked at Ryan and Kirsten but approached them.

"Hi, Dolly. How are you?" Kirsten reached out and held Mrs. Moore's hands in hers. "And how is Chester?"

"I don't know what to think anymore. When I talk to my husband, he is so angry." Mrs. Moore turned toward Ryan. "Chester says you broke his ribs. Chester has enough problems with his dad, why are you picking on him?"

Kirsten wrapped an arm around the woman and maneuvered them a step or two away from Ryan. "That's not what happened, Dolly. But it will be all right."

"We weren't perfect but we were a family. Either my husband ... or that boy is a bully. He must be a bully." Mrs. Moore's voice was shrill and she angrily shrugged Kirsten off.

A few people around them began to notice the raised and emotional voices.

Quietly Kirsten said, "Dolly, your husband is abusive. I'll do everything I can to help you and Chester."

At the word 'abusive' Dolly Moore stood stock still and blinked at Kirsten a few times. Her head shook with growing agitation. "You're wrong!" she shouted and slapped Kirsten across the face. She backed away and pointed to Ryan. "If that boy didn't do it then Ronald did, and that would mean I let him, which is like I hurt Chester. I would never hurt Chester."

The room had frozen in silence after the slap; everyone stared at the two women and Ryan.

Ryan quickly stepped up protectively to Kirsten's side, tense and ready for anything.

"How can you say such things?" Tears streamed down Mrs. Moore's face and she stepped toward Kirsten belligerently.

Ryan put himself between Mrs. Moore and Kirsten. Kirsten grabbed him by the upper arm. She looked stunned and the side of her face was red, but she managed to say to Ryan calmly, "I'm fine." She looked him steadily in the eye. "Go. Meet me by the car."

Ryan hesitated for a long, long moment, uncertain. He looked at Mrs. Moore who had stopped at his movement but still looked angry. Whatever the punishment was for disobeying Kirsten, he could never forgive himself if she got hurt. Ryan turned back to Kirsten and shook his head no.

"Please," she said firmly, shaking his arm. "Stop and think before something happens that we all regret. I can handle her."

Ryan paused again before he nodded to Kirsten slowly and walked even slower toward the door. It was jammed with people who had stopped, anxious to witness more gossip fodder. Ryan kept his head turned to keep an eye on Kirsten the entire time. Other women including Julie Cooper had joined the pair, separating and soothing them. The clucking women around Kirsten made Ryan feel better.

As Ryan passed by the mousey woman he shunned earlier, she turned to her friend and asked, "What happened - why did she bitch slap her? I miss everything."

Her friend replied, "Dolly said that delinquent the Cohens took in is at it again; he beat up her son!"

"That's the kid? He's the one who burned down their house and beat up the Trask boy?" She drew back from Ryan.

Someone behind Ryan said, "No. Dolly said Ronald hit Chester."

And another voice said, "You know, I do remember now Chester's dad was rough with him on the golf course. I almost said something..."

Ryan sighed; it would be a matter of minutes before Mr. Moore knew the silence agreement had been broken. He wondered which other Cohen he could drag into his mess of a life.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Ryan was sitting on the Range Rover when he heard Kirsten approach from behind. He slid off the hood and turned to her. Like Ryan, she looked like she had changed quickly into street clothes. The faintest impression of a handprint could be seen on Kirsten's face. Ryan looked away.

He held out an ice pack he had gotten on the way out of the club. "Alternate with hot compresses for the next 48 hours, but start aggressively with ice for the first 20 minutes."

Kirsten stared at him for a moment. She shifted her gym bag over her shoulder and took the soft ice pack, placing it against the left side of her face. "Thanks. Is this the secret to your magical healing powers?"

Ryan shrugged as Kirsten reached into a side pouch of her bag and found her keys. "Let's go." With an electronic bleat the locks opened. They got into the car.

"I know what you're thinking but you didn't do anything wrong."

"And look at your face now," Ryan replied grimly.

"Let's get out of here, then we'll talk." Kirsten started the car and pulled out of the lot.

Except when she needed both hands to drive, Kirsten kept the ice to her face, juggling it clumsily. As they got onto the freeway she asked, "Are you okay?"

"Sandy's going to be pissed, huh?"

"He knows it wasn't your fault. I called on the way out of the club and explained what happened, and he's just worried about us."

They drove without speaking; the white noise of traffic seemed to lull them quiet. Then Ryan said softly, "Sorry." He nodded toward the ice pack and asked, "Do you need something so your hand doesn't freeze?"

"Good idea. Can you reach in my bag for a towel?" Kirsten set the ice on her lap, lowered her jaw in a stretch, and gingerly touched a finger to her cheek. "My face hurts a bit, but somehow you look worse. Don't worry about me. I'm a tough Newport chick," she said with a laugh. "I was surprised by Dolly's strength. This is her fault, not yours. She's going through a lot."

"If only I had stayed closer by. Now there's no telling what Mr. Moore's going to do." Ryan reached around to the back seat and pulled out a towel from the top of her bag. He handed it to Kirsten.

Kirsten used it to hold the ice pack against her cheek again. "Honestly, I don't know how we're going to handle him yet. But let us worry about it."

Ryan said in exasperation, "You shouldn't have to. Wasting your time and money isn't right. Getting hit because of me isn't right. I can't believe this is happening."

In a light voice that seemed in contrast to the heartfelt words Kirsten replied, "Sandy was right about you; you're worth every hassle. And if you haven't noticed we're not hurting for money."

Ryan fidgeted in his seat and stared out the window. They lapsed back into another quiet until Kirsten pulled into the driveway.

There was a natural pause before either of them opened the car doors. Kirsten looked at Ryan with a wan smile. "We did have fun together in yogalates though, didn't we?"

Ryan fought a smile that crept up his face. "If we kept going to classes together, you wouldn't be keeping that prettiest pony pose rank much longer."

"Ha. You think so, do you?"

"Do," Ryan said confidently.

They entered the front door with Kirsten still laughing.

They made their way to the kitchen where Sandy stood waiting anxiously. He seemed to drink in the sight of Kirsten and Ryan smiling. He reached for Kirsten, folded her into his arms and closed his eyes, rocking slightly. She dropped her bag to the floor, and Sandy could be heard sighing in relief.

Ryan stood by awkwardly considering whether he could get around them quietly. As he took a step, Sandy looked up and took them both into his view again and grinned broadly. "How are my champions of non-violence?" He reached out and touched Ryan's arm. "Good job, Ryan. Good job."

Ryan looked over Sandy's shoulder to see Seth entering from the living room.

"Whassup? Ghandi and MLK in the house! Haaarrr. Haaarrr." Seth cupped his hands around his mouth to mimic rowdy applause. He smiled at his own joke but his face seemed slightly whiter than normal as he stared intently at his mother. Sandy had clearly filled him in on what happened.

At Seth's voice, Kirsten went to him. "I'm fine. I just got in a little tussle; Chester's mom is upset."

"A tussle? Okay..." he said doubtfully. "Welcome to my world full of _tussles_. Can you inherit tussle magnetism, too? Never mind, you know what? This calls for a group hug." Seth opened his arms wide. Sandy and Kirsten indulgently allowed themselves to be corralled into the beginnings of a hug when the doorbell rang.

Ryan turned eagerly for the door.

Sandy said, "That must be the Chinese food I ordered." He followed Ryan pulling out his wallet.

Ryan returned loaded down with a cardboard box from the deliveryman.

"Chinese? Perfect. Just like we had for Thanksgiving dinner. And just like that day we have lots to be thankful for," Seth said.

"Your mom getting slapped because of me or that Mr. Moore is gunning for me again?" asked Ryan sarcastically.

Sandy interjected earnestly, "I'm thankful you didn't even touch Mrs. Moore or do anything that could be misconstrued so that I'm not bailing you out right now. What you did showed self-restraint, Ryan. I'm so glad you listen to Kirsten. Promise me you'll always think first."

Seth was helping Ryan take out containers of food. He interrupted, "Let's crank it down a mega-watt, Dad. We can be simply be thankful for take-out instead of home cooking tonight."

"Okay. I'm thankful I got out of a group hug." Ryan smiled tentatively.

"I'm thankful I'm not the only one who is a natural yogi in the house anymore. Ryan loved it," Kirsten called from the dining room where she was setting the table.

Sandy and Seth looked at each other, and then at Ryan and said in unison, "Ryan?"

Ryan ignored them. "Who wants eggrolls?"

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"No more yoga jokes. It's old, man."

"As old as, say, my mom's friends that you did your **man**ly 'warrior pose' for?"

"Kirsten told you that? Doesn't your family have boundaries? Not everything has to be shared!" Ryan growled.

"Gawd, did you just say 'boundaries'? After two anger therapy and one yogalates sessions? Tell me you didn't commune with your inner god. Or Marlo Thomas."

Ryan sent Seth his most withering look. They were walking along a pathway onto campus, and paused on a crest. They put their book bags down, and looked onto the student plaza. Groups of self-segregated students enjoyed their morning lattes and conversation.

"What? Phil Donahue's wife, Marlo Thomas, star of _That Girl_. Also, producer of _Free To Be You and Me_ which was on my desert island album list in my Berkeley years, Ryan."

Ryan glared.

"Okay, forget that. Mom was simply proud of your yogalates prowess." Seth grimaced and said, "Word of warning though: retribution if you beat her in Scrabble is off the charts."

A long-legged, blonde cheerleader noticed Ryan and Seth. She leaned into her gaggle of friends, whispering and furtively looking back at Ryan and Seth. The flock began prancing excitedly in their Prada boots, and their purses flapped against their Juicy Couture as they swiveled quickly to inspect the latest two classmate-victims.

"What? Is my hair is not working today?" Seth patted his curls down. "Oh, oh, I get it." He stuck his tongue out and glared bugged eyed at the girls. They turned away haughtily. "The master race has nothing better to do than revel in others' misfortunes. You know what Ryan? They would use Sponge Bob Square Pants to suffocate Bambi if it meant getting into Bruce Wayne's bank account – sorry for the mixed media. This town sucks, we oughta jet. Start our Kerouac thing."

"Right behind you, man."

But neither Seth nor Ryan moved; they stood staring glumly at their school for a few moments before they threw their bags over their shoulders and trudged on to their first classes.

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Norland took it in, leaning his backside into Ryan, driving for the net. "So you jumped that kid Lester Moore?" Norland managed to ask before he fouled Ryan with an elbow to the gut. He scored on an easy lay up.

Ryan realized quickly that the water polo team was carefully testing the rumors that he wouldn't hit back. They were still scared of his short fuse and quick fists seen at the beach party, the model home, and other Newport events; but if rumors were true, this was too good an opportunity to let pass. Even as Ryan sucked in his breath sharply at the jab, he had wanted to laugh because they were pitiful in their attempts. He had trained under his dad and AJ, Harbor boys didn't rank when it came to getting a rise out of Ryan.

"Stick to the game," Ryan snarled. Basketball was not his thing; sports involving height weren't playing to his strengths. Between the snide remarks and shoves, it was going to be a long day. The game gave him something to concentrate on besides legal problems.

The weather was Newport-perfect for outdoor sports. Most of the class was playing 4-on-4 half-court, but on this last rotation Ryan was unlucky enough to have to go 1-on-1 against Norland because there weren't enough players.

Ryan picked up the ball and took it back to the line. He was too small to dominate the lane so after dribbling for a few beats he faked to the left, spun, and pivoted to the right. Norland was a half a step behind so Ryan had a clear 3 point jump shot. Nothing but net, but as he came down Norland knocked Ryan's legs out from under him. Ryan backpedaled but fell hard on his ass and back, scraping an elbow.

Norland had come into his own now that Luke was dethroned. And since he wasn't creative, the regime change was barely noticed by the plebes- more of the same bullying and verbal abuse. "You fucked up bad, huh? I heard one more fight and it's back to juvie. And Cohen, your butt fuck buddy, will be back in his place."

Ryan, still sprawled on his back, didn't react. Norland's check was way beyond a foul. But Ryan never seriously considered getting Norland back. He knew he could take Norland down with a few well placed blows. With the Atwood luck, he would be mid punch when the Coach decided to return. Besides, absorbing pain was a test he would gladly take if it avoided more trouble for the Cohens.

Norland looked to see what the Coach was doing. He was walking to the lower courts and would soon be out of sight. Norland kicked Ryan half-heartedly in the gut as he pretended to trip by. "Foster freak, remember your place here."

As Ryan scrambled out and away from Norland he said evenly, "They are my legal guardians." He wanted to yell it instead. Foster families were meant to be temporary caregivers who tried to prepare the children to be reunited with their birth families or adjust to an adopting family. He knew the water polo team didn't care, but it mattered to him. Sandy and Kirsten were taking on a huge legal responsibility for him as if he were their natural child, and not just biding time or taking money from the state until Dawn showed up.

Norland's confidence seemed to grow as Ryan didn't retaliate. "Shut the fuck up." He landed a hard punch to Ryan's middle.

Students, realizing excitement was to be had, gathered to watch. A couple of Norland's nameless goons joined in circling Ryan. Ryan danced around trying keep the goons in front of him. But that was impossible with three of them there. Goon 1 punched Ryan solidly in his side when Ryan had looked the other away. Ryan's breath was knocked out of him, but he stayed up and held his arms in a protective boxer's stance. He hopefully glanced around for the Coach. But Goon 2 came at him with a flying kick a la Bruce Lee style. Ryan easily leaned out of the way at the last minute and the force to his thigh was glancing.

Norland gestured to the others to back off before he punched Ryan again in the stomach. Ryan let out a muffled gasp. He looked up expecting to see another punch coming his way. Instead Norland and his goons smiled cryptically and walk away. Students returned to play. Maybe the Coach was returning? Ryan bent down to his knee as he pulled himself together. They didn't touch his face. A good thing since he didn't want to worry Sandy or Kirsten. He would just have to be more careful to stay in the view of the coaches and teachers.

Only as Ryan was straightening up did he think about some of the new techniques he was learning in therapy – counting to ten, morphing your opponent into a silly object, or communicating his feelings. He couldn't imagine Norland shaped as anything but the shallow jock he was, nor could he imagine talking to Norland with "I feel" sentences. In any case, Ryan didn't need any of the techniques; the water polo crowd just didn't scare him. Any incidental bruises were a minor irritation, tangible evidence he could do the right thing and resist violence.

A long whistle blew; the coach had finally returned to the upper courts. "Hey, Atwood," he said noticing Ryan, "Look alive and round up some balls." He threw a netted bag his way.

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Seth was sitting at their regular lunch table when Ryan approached, slightly hunched over with a light tray of food.

Seth poked at his salad. "Do you think it's ironic that the Chef's salad involves very little chef-ing? You cut things up and put it on a plate- not much for a skilled cook to do." Seth looked up as Ryan sat down heavily with a slight intake of breath. "What's with you?" Seth asked.

Ryan gave him a look.

"Oh, right. The beasties are loose and smell blood. Ryan, do they seem unnaturally concerned about our sex lives?" Seth looked seriously at Ryan. "Can you handle them without blowing up?"

"These assholes are nothing I can't handle."

"Great, good for you." Seth picked at his salad some more. "Because if there's any danger of you ..."

Ryan interrupted by asking, "How's it going with Summer?"

"Not a subtle change in topic, but it's a good topic. Summer is ... Ryan, I don't want to jinx it by thinking along this path but do you think she... no, wait. Do you think any person can put up with the pressure of hanging out with a publicly proven wimp and loser? Because you know what, Ryan? I'm not sure I could. And Summer shouldn't have to make that decision."

Neither of them said anything for a few moments. Ryan bit into a bagel he had brought from the Cohen home. It was cheaper than buying from the cafeteria.

"Or will she in fact understand my oath of non-violence and respect my philosophy as profound and wise? Ryan, Ryan, what do you think?"

Ryan opened his mouth to speak but Seth interrupted. "No, wimp and loser, I know. Ryan, you don't get it. I went from random flopper along the shore to determined salmon gliding upstream. I am just hitting my stride. I can't go back," he sighed loudly. "I've tasted the nectar that is Summer and winter is too harsh now."

"What's this about?"

Seth leaned back in his chair, and propped up his feet on the retaining wall. He ignored Ryan's question. "I will have to develop a master plan, that's all."

Ryan stared at Seth's shoes. "Are those my new Nikes?"

"Huh. Yes, I guess I borrowed them out of your gym locker. They're a little small, you might want to bump it a size. Maybe a size and a half." Seth put his feet back under the table and got very interested with his yogurt, humming tunelessly.

Ryan narrowed his eyes at Seth. "Norland?" Ryan watched Seth carefully. Ryan could feel his own blood rising as he saw Seth's face get red.

Seth didn't look up, but said in his best Ryan imitation, "Yo, bro. These assholes are nothing I can't handle."

Ryan gave Seth a sideways glance, unsure how to react to the news that the water polo team had peed in Seth's shoes again. He wanted to be protective without embarrassing Seth.

"I was okay with not fighting back pre-Summer, but now I'm _not_ okay with that circa-Summer because I'm not ready to be in a post-Summer era. What does that even say about me? Am I contorting myself into someone different to have a girlfriend? Because I hate those splineless guys. But letting myself get my ass kicked is another kind of spineless though. I should be secure with who I am and Summer will see that non-violence is the morally correct path." Seth held his hands around his head in frustration. "Aaarrgghh. Who am I kidding? I couldn't defend myself if I wanted to."

Ryan was more miserable than when he was getting beat up in gym class. He was silent. For once his silence was not due to his normal caution but because he had no idea what to say.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Ryan walked along the beach oblivious to his wet pant legs and the beautiful coastline. He needed to think. Among his worries, he might be charged with assault and sent to juvie. His stomach turned at the thought. For all his tough childhood, juvie scared the shit out of him.

He hated that his trouble was causing the Cohens trouble. He wouldn't blame Kirsten if she were to revert to her original wariness of him. Nothing could assuage Ryan's guilt for Kirsten getting hurt. He did not hit her himself, but he was the catalyst. Not only had she been hurt, Kirsten felt obliged to leverage the Newport Group into stopping Mr. Moore from pushing his case against Ryan. Ryan didn't want to think how this might be costing the firm. Kirsten's decision was causing all sorts of tension in her already troubled relationship with her dad. Fortunately Mr. McNichol would be out of town on business for a while.

Ryan imagined his appeal to Sandy was fading. Ryan had wanted so badly for Sandy's faith in him to be proven right. He had been a badge of Sandy's idealism and altruism, but how ideal was it to work questionable backroom deals and trade on personal favors for someone who had so little self-control that he hit a small kid? Even if that was a harsh assessment, it was true Ryan was no longer an abstract, low-maintenance, do-gooder project.

At Harbor Ryan had stopped assholes from harassing Seth, and had made Summer aware of Seth. Now Seth was being bullied again because Ryan couldn't retaliate. Summer seemed to make Seth happy but she also seemed so caught up with the glamour of Newport that Ryan wasn't sure what she would do. Sandy and Seth had gotten to know him for more than those things in the last six months, of course. But the Cohens, like everyone, must have limits on how much of Ryan's crap they could put up with.

Finally, had Ryan hurt or helped Chester? Both? Hopefully Ryan had only brought to a head more quickly things that would have happened anyways. Maybe Child Services could work magic for Chester that nobody had been able to for the Atwoods. It was impossible to know what Chester thought; kid logic was impenetrable and he wasn't allowed to go near him anyways.

The sun was beginning to set. Ryan looked up to see he was in front of the Crab Shack, where he had locked his bike. Since his ill-fated friendship with Donny the Cohens hadn't eaten there as much even though Sandy was mad for crab cakes. Ryan put on his shoes and walked into the restaurant. The Cohens might appreciate him picking up dinner tonight; it was the least he could do to show his appreciation for putting up with his problems. The restaurant was a strange mix of fancy and plain; they sold crème brulee and instant chocolate pudding. He ordered pudding for Seth, and crab cakes.

As he waited he looked around but didn't recognized anyone working the front. He missed the place; the work and the money had given him a sense of independence. If he survived this latest round, he'd like to get another job.

A lanky, teenage boy rang up the bill. Ryan packed the food into his backpack and headed out. As he reached for the door, Norland and Brad of the water polo team entered. They seemed as surprised as Ryan was.

"It's the Chino charity case, otherwise known as Cohen's playmate of the year. Where's your sugar daddy?" Brad asked.

Putting up with a beating everyday by the water polo team was no longer an option. They would continue harassing Seth until someone, probably Ryan, snapped. He was wrong about not being able to retaliate. It was a choice between playing it safe for his parole officer and leaving Seth hanging. Ryan wanted it both ways. He didn't trust his new anger management skills. All apologies to his anger management instructor and Ed the yogi, pre-emptive measures were in order.

Brad walked by purposely knocking into Ryan. Norland sneered and said, "You and your candy ass _brother_ better be ready for some fun tomorrow." He said the word 'brother' with scorn.

Almost before Norland was finished speaking, Ryan pulled back a fist and punched Norland in the jaw. Norland hadn't expected it and fell, dazed, into Brad's arms.

There was no anger to manage; he didn't even want to fight with them. It was the best idea he had for a crappy situation. Maybe if he stood up to them, they would back off. Ryan's first choice would have been to 'tell on' the assholes - what did he care what other kids thought? But they wouldn't believe Ryan's word alone that he didn't instigate the fights, and Seth had begged Ryan not to ask him to "squeal". Seth thought Summer wouldn't like dating a schoolyard tattle-tail any more than a weakling.

"If you have a problem, bring it on. Leave Seth alone."

With an angry stare Norland regained his balance and went on the attack. Ryan protected his face so he wouldn't have any explaining to do, but it left his middle more open than he liked. He suffered a couple of punch to his ribs, and was pushed into the door with a loud thump before he could strike back.

A fat manager ran to them with a baseball bat in his hand. "Take it outside or I'm calling the cops."

They paused and traded scowls. Ryan exited quickly. Brad and Norland must have realized there were just as many witnesses outdoors because they didn't follow.

He got on his bike and pedaled home. If his strategy held, he could keep the fights hidden from the view of teachers, guardians and the like. The assholes would eventually get bored with it - or so Ryan hoped. The course Ryan had chosen skated between his own selfish goals and helping Seth. It already felt like thin ice.

Ryan paused to check himself out in the hallway mirror before entering the kitchen. He wanted to make sure there were no signs of a fight.

Kirsten and Sandy didn't notice him at first. They were locked in a deep kiss, somehow each managing to hold upright a glass of red wine behind each other's back. They parted as Sandy rumbled something into Kirsten's ear to make her giggle. She noticed Ryan, stopped laughing, and cocked her head so Sandy would notice too.

"Ryan! Good to see one of you guys," Sandy's voice boomed.

"Seth's having dinner with Summer," Kirsten explained straightening up.

Sandy put his glass down, and crumpled up a sheet of paper lying by him on the counter. He pretended to dribble across the kitchen and checked Ryan. His hook shot made it into the garbage can across the kitchen. "Two with a swoosh. I'd love a physical game of round ball. Mano a mano. You, me, tommorow?" Sandy asked in his version of a street voice.

"No. Sorry, get enough of that at school."

"Oh," Sandy said mildly perplexed. "Well, that was a note for you. Kirsten and I are off for a belated New Year's dinner."

Kirsten asked, "You'll be okay for the night? Leftovers in the frig." She looked happy in a slinky, blue, strapless dress; her face didn't have a trace of a _tussle_. Ryan didn't know if it was fast healing or makeup.

Ryan nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, yeah. I've got lots of homework." The last thing he wanted was dinner alone with Seth's parents. Seth was a necessary buffer to awkward topics.

"Come on, honey." Sandy pointed to his wristwatch. "You got mine again."

Kirsten smiled and said, "Good night then." It was good to see them smiling and enjoying a night out after the horror of the other night. Maybe he could learn from them how to relish life before the ax fell.

After they left Ryan unpacked. The food wasn't too smashed up from the fight. He made a plate of crab cakes, coleslaw and potatoes for himself and put the rest of the food in the refrigerator.

He didn't really have homework that night, so he ate in front of _The Valley_, an episode where the main characters anguished over new Valentine loves. A goofy show but he missed eating in front of the tube. They did it all the time in Chino, except football was more likely to be on.

Ryan cleaned up dinner and took out the trash; he could still contribute something useful tonight.

Ryan thought he'd PlayStation until Seth came home. But after many games alone, he went to bed before Seth came home. At least Seth was getting some, he thought.

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Ryan was a heavy sleeper. He slept through drunken fights, loud TVs, screeching cars, and the eerie quiet unique to rich suburbs. He loved to sleep, sprawled on his stomach, flat on his back, or on his side ready for spooning. It didn't matter if it was a cheap hotel fold-out bed, a dingy mattress on a floor, or Egyptian thousand count cotton sheets, Ryan slept well. Waking up was another matter; he always got rumpled with bed head and couldn't function until he had a cup of coffee.

He happened to be on his side when he felt someone snuggle up against his back. A warm, delicate hand reached over his shoulder and tracked slowly from his chest down to his stomach. It slid under his shirt. "Hmmm," he murmured and relaxed, yielding to the touch.

Was Marissa sneaking over while staying at her mom's? He'd been without some action for a while - relish life, right? She couldn't expect any commitment if she jumped into his bed before dawn; he was only human or at least a normal teenage boy.

She was on top of the sheets, but he leaned back into soft and welcoming flesh. Not thin and angular flesh? He felt two plump breasts against his back ... plump?

"Hey." Ryan opened a blurry eye. "Summer!" he choked out, "What?" He was wide awake now and pawing at the bed with his heels to get away from her.

But Summer sat up onto her knees and pressed her hands against his bare chest pinning him down. She had succeeded in shoving his muscle shirt up under his chin. He knew they both could feel his heart pumping a mile a minute as they stared at each other. He counted to ten slowly; he was successfully managing fear. He was as much afraid of her as he was afraid to injure her by pushing her away like he wanted to.

"So tell me what you guys were doing," she whispered sternly.

"Are you drunk again? You're Seth's girlfriend. You can't be here."

"Get over yourself, Chino, and answer the question."

She was staring at his upper body with intense scrutiny. He involuntarily tensed and his stomach muscles rippled. She poked him to turn as if she wanted see his backside, too. That was not going to happen; he had kicked off his sweatpants sometime that night when it had gotten too hot. It was a hundred times hotter now.

"So you've got bruises, too. What were you playing when you guys got hurt?"

Satisfied with her partial inspection, she let him up. He sat as far away from her on the bed as he could, pulling much of the sheet with him. He grabbed a spare pillow to put over his middle. His mind was starting to track the conversation, somewhat.

"Seth and I were just messing around. How bad is he?" he asked covering for Seth's lie and be as vague as possible.

"Almost as bad as you." Ryan was pretty banged up between the gym class and the Crab Shack encounters. She had seen the large bruises turning shades of purple and green over his stomach and sides. His eyes widen and he looked away.

She must have caught his surprised expression. "I knew it. Don't bullshit me. The guys are harassing you two, aren't they?"

Ryan looked down. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, stalling for time.

Summer's shoulders slumped. She turned away but not before Ryan saw her saddened face.

"God, he told me you guys were just fighting like brothers do. What do I know about brothers? I wanted to believe him. He doesn't want me to know, but they'll keep picking on him until everybody knows and I won't be able to pretend anymore."

Ryan sighed deeply. "I'll fix it," Ryan said with more confidence than he had.

"Your idea of fixing will land you in jail. Seth will really get his ass kicked then - didn't you learn anything from _Revenge of the Nerds?_ Good movie but it really needs a remake." Summer rested her chin on her fist and frowned in thought. "He can't know I know about this. We need to get radical, Chino."

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"Hurry up. I feel almost naked." Ryan was standing in Holly's bedroom in his boxers and another muscle shirt.

"Because you are, dumb ass." Summer took off her blouse, hung it on a chair back, and shook out her hair. "Sorry. I'm a little nervous. Holly thinks I'm looking for my scarf she borrowed so we have about 15 minutes before anyone gets suspicious. You know what to do?"

"Yeah. Yeah. I know." Ryan stared at the ceiling.

"Wait in the closet. Come out when I say 'Princess Sparkle'."

Ryan stepped into the closet leaving the door cracked open.

Loud music from the party downstairs was deafening when Summer opened the door. Holly's parents were gone for the weekend. Norland was standing in the hallway just outside and stared at her in awe.

"Come in, Norbie. I'm glad you heard me ask to you to follow," Summer said in a sing-song voice. Ryan couldn't help but notice Summer looked great; she had on cat ears and black leather costume with zippers like the Catwoman in the Batman shows Seth loved so much. A wispy, pink scarf around her neck contrasted her tough cat theme.

Norland was grinning ear to ear. "I knew you'd get tired of slumming with the geek. Wait until I tell the g-"he trailed off realizing he was speaking aloud.

Summer pretended she didn't hear him. He burped loudly and put his can of beer down on a bureau. He came up to her, tilted his head, and leaned in for a kiss.

"Wait, I'm ahead of you," Summer panted referring to his clothes.

He took his tee shirt off in one motion and stepped out of his pants, staggering only once. He seemed to be a graceful drunk.

She pushed his willing body flat onto the bed. He tried to turn to get on top of her.

"Eww..." She jumped away. "I mean, I'm Catwoman and you can be one blind mouse. Here's my new Marc Jacobs' scarf." Summer took off her scarf and tied it around Norland's eyes. He sank back onto the bed and laughed nervously. He reached out blindly for her.

She reached under the bed for handcuffs and gently slapped one side around his wrist. Norland tensed up and reached with his free hand for the blindfold. Summer distracted him by caressing his chest. It was shaven but well built. She giggled seductively. "We can take turns. But ladies first." She raised his arms above his head and weaved the handcuff through the headboard. She locked his other wrist to the other side of the handcuff. He yanked against the handcuffs. Although he had been willing, Norland seemed startled to realize he was truly shackled.

She soothed him by saying softly, "Princess Sparkle prefers her men flying blind."

Ryan quietly stepped out of the closet with a camera phone in his hand.

Norland was smiling as Ryan snapped a picture of him tied up and blindfolded. With the snap of the camera Norland asked anxiously, "What's happening?" He rubbed his head against his upper arms to try to nudge the blindfold off.

Summer stood up and took the camera phone from Ryan.

"Where you going, babe?" Norland's voice was panicked. The edge of the blindfold was coming loose.

Ryan and Summer looked at each other for a moment before Summer nodded encouragingly. Ryan got on the bed pinning Norland's legs down by sitting on his ankles. Norland tensed immediately and fought against Ryan's hold. "Hey," he yelled.

Ryan pressed one hand on Norland's thigh, the other hand stretched to take off Norland's blindfold.

"What the fuck?" Norland glanced rapidly from Ryan to Summer and back again. He jerked angrily against the handcuffs and tried bucking off Ryan. Norland's drunken state made him slow to grasp what was happening, but he became more agitated, breathing heavily. The handcuffs and Ryan's weight made it impossible for him to move very much. Norland stared at Ryan's hand as it lingered on Norland's thigh. Ryan pulled it away with a long careful motion.

Ryan still weighed down the legs but they had grown still as Norland's panting became louder. Ryan's expression was stoic as he slowly pulled his shirt over his head. Norland didn't blink, but his briefs strained tight. They all stared at his discomfort. Norland looked at Ryan with a question and a faint, embarrassed smile.

Summer aimed the camera their way. The flash pulled Norland's attention away from Ryan and he shouted, "Help. Brad, get up here!"

"Shut up, we have your 20th century autograph," Summer wiggled her cell phone to show Norland. She moved to get a profile, close-up shot where the bulge could not be mistaken.

Ryan and Summer put on their clothes in a rush. Ryan held the key in his hand. "Summer, get going. I'll put the key in his hand and meet you by the car."

Summer nodded. "Norland, you're stupid so I'll spell it out. Don't mess with Cohen, or this photo of you getting it on with another guy will be spammed all over Harbor."

"What about him?" Norland gestured to Ryan, desperate to find a hole in their plan.

"Good idea. We'll black out his identity. Be good and make the others behave, and nobody will know our little secret."

Norland watched Ryan nervously for a moment, then tried kicking him. Ryan skirted out of his reach and placed the key where he said he would. Norland babbled, "Dude. Hey dude. I was checking Summer out... Please, you can't do this."

Without a backward glance, Ryan climbed out the window and down from the tree he had climbed up earlier. He ran to Summer's car and got in. She quickly peeled away.

Summer laughed spontaneously. "Wow. Oh my God. Wow."

Ryan was quiet but smiled tightly, relieved the plan went off so well. Their biggest worry had been how to make Norland look like a willing partner with another boy. The kinky shot of Norland tied up with Summer looking on was their backup photo.

Summer pulled over a block from the Cohen home and turned off the engine.

"I so thought he was into me with the cat thing, but you really were his cat nip. I was kinda sad for him like Luke's dad in the closet until I remember what an ass he is." Summer was bouncing in the driver's seat. "Was it Oprah or Dr. Ruth who said it was okay to get turned on by someone else as long as you brought it home? I may have to get another set of cuffs and maybe whiskers - Cohen's gonna to forget he ever had bruises."

Ryan didn't want to know if she was referring to Norland or him and kept quiet. He frowned.

Summer seemed to sense his reservations. "Hey, we had to do it because we love him," she said quietly. She took the camera phone out of her little black purse, and showed Ryan as she pressed the Delete button a few times. "It never happened. We don't need it; Norland is shitting in his litter box right now. He won't press his luck."

Summer paused and looked pensively into the night street. "One day, I'm cruising West Coast Mall caring only for the latest outfits. The next day Cohen is there encouraging me to be the me I really want to be, but was afraid to be. If Newport society is all you know, it's hard to break out of that kind of thinking."

Ryan smiled. "You still shop West Coast Mall."

"Okay, but not so much." She leaned over and hugged him. "Chino, you're not so eww."

He squeezed her back. "You're amazing, Summer. Seth deserves you."

Ryan opened the door. Summer leaned over to look out at Ryan and added, "Thanks ... Ryan."

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Authors Note: All grammar mistakes, unintended POV shifts, and plot inconsistencies are always my fault, but more so with these later chapters. I should have mentioned this before: Chapters 7 onward didn't get my wonderful beta's usual services. Real life can be such a nuisance to fan fiction.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Ryan's face was red with exertion as he started his tenth pull up. His arms bulged and the veins stood out prominently. His chin hovered above the bar as his eyes followed Seth walking by the infinity pool toward him until he was peering directly down at him.

Seth stared up at Ryan with his eyes open wide in mock wonder. "Gather around, kids. Exhibit A: how muscles are built."

Ryan dropped to the ground and put on a tee shirt by his feet. He raised his eyebrows to ask Seth what he wanted.

"Hey." Seth waved waist high to Ryan. "Where'd you get that new contraption?" Seth pointed to the chin up bar braced in the door frame to the poolhouse.

Ryan shrugged.

"I like it. Between that and everything you've done to the poolhouse, I hardly recognize the old place."

"It's not like I can work out at Harbor anymore. I don't have a job. Marissa and I are taking a break ... gotta do something."

"Yeah, avoiding Harbor, I know about that. I can lend you my Talmud or," in a Rocky Balboa voice he said, "Well, ya see, sir. I understan you're looking for sparrin' partners for Apollo, and I jus want ta let ya know I'm very available." Dropping the voice Seth asked, "What do you say, brudda? Can you teach me some moves so I can be a contenda?"

"Sparring? Contender? Boxing movies ...you want to box with me? I've never been in a ring before in my life. My workouts are your sailing. Go sailing." It was mid morning on a hot, breezy Sunday. But Seth wasn't dressed in his usual sailing outfit; he had on a track suit in muted red with white piping down the arms.

"My almost-grandmother in her glorious hotness once advised: gotta change it up, buddy." He kicked at the ground and mumbled, "Whatever it takes to keep Summer."

"And you called me whipped?" Ryan walked to the grass and lay on his back. He began doing sit-ups, cupping his hands to his ears with his elbows splayed out. He exhaled audibly with each sit-up.

"Yeah, okay. But this is Summer." Seth stressed her name as if she were a shrine to behold.

Ryan shot him a dirty look but didn't say anything.

Seth gripped the chin up bar. "So how many of these do you have to do to get your body?" Seth grunted as he struggled to pull himself up. He kicked his feet wildly in the air as if it would propel him up.

"I thought Norland got tired of us," Ryan said ignoring Seth's question. In fact, Norland had noticeably backed off since Holly's party a week ago, but the others had taken his lead with lesser diligence and enthusiasm.

Seth didn't try another chin up. He walked over the Ryan. "The beasties are strangely quieter. But I trained at Camp Tocanhoe where our famous motto is: Be prepared. They caught me off guard the other day but never again."

Ryan paused in his sit-ups. "That's the Boy Scouts."

"Whatever. I'm thinking just a few Ali moves but I'm probably more in Sugar Ray's weight class." Seth paced back and forth in front of Ryan gesturing broadly with his hands. "If it's a gang of them, I can't be blamed for taking a fall, right? But if it's mano a mano, I have to put up a good show for a few seconds. You're right; it's more street fighting than boxing that I'm looking for."

"How about we just transfer schools?"

"If I'm not there, Summer will wander into winter. I need a one-two." Seth took a boxer's crouch and attempted a version of shadow boxing. "If they try any shit in front of Summer..." He flopped on the lawn beside Ryan and fiddled with his shoelace, not looking at Ryan. "Look. I'm not like you. The Anna/Summer/me triangle was a fluke. If I were a scientist, I would throw out those data points as aberrations. I won't lose her!"

"You can trust her," Ryan said. "She's really into you, man."

"Yeah...maybe."

Ryan frowned at him and said, "If it wasn't for me and this Chester mess, you wouldn't be getting all this flack."

Seth sighed, "What you mean is I wouldn't have ever not gotten all this flack. Ryan, are you not like my brother?"

Ryan stared at him for a moment then said, "Why do I feel like you're setting me up?"

"Hear me out. I have skills that I graciously impart to you – appreciation of fine dining, knowledge of graphic novels, awesome musical taste, sailing. I could list ad infinitum. In exchange you teach me the art of non-verbal communication, finding the crazy honeys, and a few fighting moves. Isn't this what brothers do, share?"

"I'm not fighting with you. Your mom would kill me. Remember our fight on the beach?"

"I remember the fight was in a beer induced fog. But without the fog, I go a little ... spastic. It was embarrassing and I'm just lucky there weren't witnesses. I've been getting soft with you around. I hate those guys and I'm not putting up with that shit again." It was the first time Ryan knew of that Seth didn't laugh off his tormentors.

Ryan paused considering Seth's words. "When did this happen – this week? Is it Brad? I'll take care of him."

Seth's reply was both joking and heated. "God, Ryan. You emasculate me with your _help_. Am I that pitiful that you don't think I can help myself? That's it, isn't it?" Seth shook his head aggravated. "It's not all about Summer either. Since you've come to live here, I've begun to feel better about myself – deluded into thinking I can stand up to them. I never would have even thought I might defend myself last summer. Now you're telling me I was right?"

Ryan interrupted, angry at Seth's accusation. He said loudly in frustration, "No! It's not that. I wouldn't have any idea what to show you. It just happens which is part of my problem."

Seth begged, "Ryan, you've got to understand."

"No, you have to understand. I won't and I can't hit you - even in practice. Your parents are paying so I can be in an anger management class and you want me to teach you to fight. I don't think they'd understand and I owe them." Ryan ran his hand through his hair. "I'm good at fighting because I'm not scared. I'm not scared because I'm used to being hurt and don't have anything to lose – or didn't have anything before I got to know you guys. I don't want you like me, comfortable with being hit. Do you get this?" Ryan stared hard at Seth to make him realize how serious he was.

Seth looked miserable and flopped on the ground beside Ryan. "We'd just be training reflexes. We don't have to have hard contact." Despite the new arguments, Ryan knew from Seth's tone that he understood.

"We can workout together," Ryan offered begrudgingly. He added, "You know good for your heart and muscles kind of stuff. Your mom wouldn't mind that."

"Like what?" Seth asked suspiciously.

"We could run?"

"Rocky did do road work."

"Come on." Ryan got up and headed toward a running path down to the beach.

"Running now - in the heat of the day? Outdoors - exposed to the elements so far from home?"

Ryan stopped at Seth's comment. "We're standing in your yard. How far away is that?" He sighed. "Then I'll call Luke; he's got a whole gym set up in his basement with all kinds of equipment, free weights."

"Luke may have a big, gay, dad, but he still shaves his chest," Seth said petulantly.

Ryan glowered at Seth.

"I understand he's a nice guy now and all but," Seth lowered his voice, "I don't want to do this kind of stuff with him. He'll laugh or be all jockey. Can't we just do this without him?" Seth seemed genuinely distressed and not putting on the pitiful act he used to get his way.

Ryan nodded. "Sure, whatever," he said. Ryan didn't think Luke would say anything insensitive on purpose, but Ryan knew there was history between them. He had probably only seen a minor fraction of Seth's abuse from Luke. Seth had already shown himself to be a good sport about befriending his former nemesis.

Seth's suddenly brightened up. "Wait a minute! Come with me to a land of abandoned Chanukah presents." He headed over to the garage with Ryan following behind him.

Seth stopped by a blue tarp in the back of the garage. "Ahhh...Aaaaah." He lifted the tarp and gestured dramatically at a wide assortment of free weights and equipment. "Dad's short lived fitness phase."

Ryan got down and inspected the goods. He looked up at Seth with a huge smile.

They began to set up on the patio near the poolhouse. They carried parts of an adjustable bench and a lifting bar around to the back. With a wheelbarrow, they loaded up some plates of different weights and pushed it to the back, too.

After a few trips Seth said, "My people respect and know how to deal with hot, desert heat." He stopped unloading the weights and took off his jacket and sweatpants. He had on shorts underneath and a black tee shirt that read "Gleason's Gym" in bold letters across the front of a boxing glove.

Ryan said, "I can't believe you had over a thousand dollars worth of stuff under a tarp in your garage." Ryan was constantly amazed at the Cohens' capacity for casual spending.

"You never said you were interested in weight lifting or we would have."

Ryan began to put together the bench. He had to go back to the garage to look for tools.

When he returned, the wheelbarrow still had a few plates in it and Seth was doing cannonballs into the pool. "What do you think of this one?" Seth asked. He had one knee lifted to his chest as he landed in the water and made a splash over much of the deck.

Ryan ignored him and worked on the bench.

When he was done, he turned to Seth who had gotten tired of cannonballs without an audience and was floating in the pool. "Ready?"

"Oh, yeah." Seth flipped over the side of the float and got out of the pool.

Dripping wet Seth said, "Okay, let's bulk up!" He eagerly approached the bench.

"Hey watch the new bench! Go get changed; you're all wet."

"I can't drip through the house. Mom will kill me." He turned to his pile of clothes by the pool. "Damn, my new Gleason shirt got all wet. That's true vintage from the 1970s before they sold out to the yuppies."

Ryan glared at Seth for a moment, then turned and went into the poolhouse for a few minutes. He returned with a towel and a tee shirt. He threw them to Seth.

Seth dried off with the towel and held a wife beater out in front of him at arms' length.

"Ya think I can pull it off?"

Ryan glared even harder.

Seth tried the same glare at the wife beater. "It's not answering me either." Seth looked up at Ryan.

"I don't have anything else that's clean. It's either that, a dress shirt, or put a towel on the bench."

"And risk sun damage to my sensitive torso? Doesn't Rosa do your laundry?" Seth put on the wife beater. "Hey, not bad. I may take up this look."

Ryan rolled his eyes. "The first thing about a lifting weights is that it's all about form. Bad form and you'll get hurt bad."

"I mean I never thought about laundry. It's like magic; clothes appear out of nowhere clean again."

Ryan sighed and said, "I don't like anyone going through my stuff."

"Whatever, man. Just don't give Mom any ideas for more chores." Seth lay on his back on the bench. He looked up to Ryan his face beaming like a kid in a nervous on the first day of school.

"This is a bench press. Keep your back flat against the bench and hold your stomach tight."

Seth took the bar with 25 pound weights on each side. He brought it to his chest and pushed it up easily a couple of times.

"Slow down. Count to three on the way up. Hold for one. Three on the way down."

Seth tried it again. He looked at Ryan.

Ryan nodded. "Not bad. Exhale up, inhale down."

Seth's grin grew. "Hey, I'm not so bad." He did two sets of twelve reps with a short break between them.

"Now, spot me," Ryan requested. He placed more plates on the bar, secured it with a pin, and set it on the lift. "I should be okay, but if I get in trouble just stop it from smashing my throat."

"Ahh, the student becomes the spotter."

Before he sat down, Ryan pointed to the bench wet with Seth's sweat. "Basic etiquette – wipe off."

Seth scowled. "Tough guys don't care about a little sweat when they're pumping iron," Seth complained. But under Ryan's glare, he wiped off the bench with his towel.

Ryan finished his sets without mishap. "Man that was great. Thanks, I missed weight training more than I knew."

"Ryan, did you pump iron with your brother or with friends?"

Ryan looked into the sea and didn't answer immediately. "Mostly my brother. He set up something in our yard and we all hung out there with his friends. Good times."

"That's nice, Ryan. I wish I could have met him, umm, before you know... We could have worked out together, done guy stuff, fixed a broken car, maybe he'd like to go sailing, ..."

Ryan smiled pensively because he couldn't imagine his two worlds getting along so seamlessly.

Seth said too cheerfully, "We'll have some good times until he can join us, 'kay? What do you say we get ripped?"

Ryan nodded agreeably, glad Seth always knew when not to push a trip down memory lane. They continued working out; Ryan demonstrated and talked Seth through squats, curls, wrist work with dumbbells, and a few other exercises. Seth seemed to lose his self-consciousness; they rambled on about everything and nothing.

After an hour or so Seth said, "Man, my pecs are quivering." Seth felt his arms. "That's good, right?"

"Those are your biceps."

"Well, they're wiped out, too, but it was great. I could use a cold beer."

Sandy approached the guys as they lounged by the equipment. He had on his work suit, but his tie was loose.

"Hey, you found my gear!" He paused at Seth's new wife beater look but didn't comment.

"Yeah, Dad. Some pieces were still in its box, never touch by a certain human's flabby muscles."

"Well, that's because you would never agree to spot me."

"I'll spot ya," Ryan offered.

"Maybe tomorrow. You guys look like your done."

"Yeah. Ready to kick back with ice cold brewskies."

"Your mom would kill me." He paused and looked at them considering. "She's out late night with the Newpsies." Sandy left them.

A few minutes later, Sandy returned in board shorts and a tee shirt. In his hand were three Coronas and a towel.

"Dad! All right." Seth's head bobbed up and down in approval. He took two and handed one to Ryan.

Ryan looked uncertainly at Sandy before he took a sip.

Sandy smiled at him. "Just one. And don't tell The Kirsten."

Ryan nodded his head toward the weights.

Sandy said, "Sure. It's been a while, let's start with 100."

Ryan adjusted the weights and unobtrusively spotted Sandy for two sets of 10 reps. He hadn't needed any help.

"Not bad for an old guy," Ryan commented.

"Not bad period. A'nold would have had some competition if a hot chick hadn't turned my head and we didn't have a beautiful baby boy the next year."

Seth scoffed, "Yeah, mom found you on Venice Beach not Berkeley Law. And don't talk about mom like that, or me in the third person or we're kicking you out of the boys' club."

Sandy didn't reply but posed stiff armed with an exaggerated shake like muscle builders in competition. They all laughed.

Sandy found his beer, then his towel and wiped down the bench.

Ryan gave Seth an 'I told you so' look. Seth just smirked.

As Ryan took a nice long drink from his beer, he noticed Kirsten out of the corner of his eye. He choked and quickly hid the bottle behind his back.

"Hi guys." She paused and took in the scene of dumbbells and weights scattered around her patio. She frowned for a moment at Seth who had a beer in his hand. "Sandy, can I talk to you?"

As Sandy left, Seth silently laughed holding his belly. "So busted," he whispered. Sandy turned around and frowned at him to cut it out.

The couple walked over by the door to the house and whispered quietly. At first the boys couldn't hear what they were saying but as Kirsten and Sandy forgot about them their voices grew.

"It's not about the beer... but make sure they know it's not okay to get drunk at parties... and never drive with even a single drop."

"They know, but I'll tell them again. What is this about then?"

"I'm not sure, but it's important." There was a pause.

"Why don't you come join us?"

"Uggh, and sweat on upholstered vinyl? No. I want to know why is Seth suddenly interested in lifting weights? He wouldn't touch them with you just last year. And he's been quiet this last week. I think he's being bullied again."

"What? No, honey. He's fine... You think? Well in either case, remember the last time we talked to Dr. Kim about this Seth wouldn't talk to us for a month. Ryan enjoys lifting so he's just being friendly."

"Are you sure? No one touches my boys," Kirsten said fiercely. "And what about Ryan? How is he doing? Does it seem like he's talking more or is it my wishful thinking?"

"What do you think? Ryan, a talker? Not so much. And he takes on guilt like a natural born Jew... Kirsten, he's fine. They're both fine. We've smoothed over legal with the Moores, and he's taking therapy seriously, what more can we ask? Let's give everyone some space."

"But keep an eye out on them, okay? Talk to them tonight."

"Okay."

As Kirsten and Sandy returned, the boys started to act busy, straightening weights and whistling, as if they hadn't overheard anything.

Sandy said, "Kirsten's a regular Joseph Campbell acolyte so we're on our own tonight, men."

"Ryan, don't ask who he is. It's a parental ploy to get you to look up references." He scratched his chin. "Do you think that's spelled with a 'p'?"

"How do you think you got so well rounded?" Sandy asked.

"Umm. Nickelodeon? The newspapers? Random people I meet?"

"George Lucas used his archetypes in Star Wars, didn't he?" Ryan asked.

Kirsten interrupted their conversation. "You three boys have a good time but be good. I'm going out with friends." She looked directly at Ryan. "You're off the hook for this week, but we worked it out so Dolly won't go to the club weekends, and we won't go on weekdays. You and I start up yogalates again at Ed's Saturday session."

Seth started laughing, loudly this time.

Kirsten glared at Seth. "Care to join us?" In a puzzled tone she added, "And do you need more underwear?"

Seth stopped his laugh cold. "From my own mother. Harsh," he muttered.

"Bye." Kirsten turned and walked toward the back door. Sandy followed her out.

Seth turned to Ryan. "This is precedent setting we need to play it right. Maybe if we go along with the Dr. Phil act we can get another beer out of Dad. "

"Your mom notices everything. It's amazing."

"Not a moment of privacy here. Dad can be just as bad. Annoying, isn't it?"

Ryan finished his beer. "No. It's kinda nice. No one cared much before."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The scene at Harbor's common was of energetic chaos. A large truck was parked in the adjacent lot and jocks were unloading flat boxes and taking them to groups of students spread out over the grounds. Cheerleaders, various sports teams, and club members were at different stages of putting together cabinets. Cardboard, wood panels, and drawer parts were strewn about.

Ryan approached Marissa, busy directing students around her. She looked up from her clipboard. "I'm going to have to dock you for coming late," she teased.

"Hey, Marissa. Summer and Seth are right behind me somewhere," Ryan said not really replying to her.

"Thanks for helping. It's such a good cause. The hospital's outreach clinic in Riverside really needed a face lift." They smiled awkwardly at each other; trying to be friends was a new experience for both of them.

"Kirsten donated these," she said picking through a box of hard hats, tool belts and tee shirts all with the Newport Group's logo on them. "Help yourself."

"I think Kirsten likes dressing me up strangely."

"You mean like that fugly brown shirt with a pattern on the shoulders you wore to Mexico?"

"I wish that was the worst of it, think form-fitting sweat pants." Ryan put on a hard hat, and raised a canvas tool belt in the air. "I wonder what she thinks might fall on our heads. Or how many tools we need on hand to screw some cabinets together."

Seth's voice boomed as he and Summer came up to Ryan and Marissa. "Ahoy, the master race of Buc Pirates is out in full force." Seth pretended to look out through a telescope at the campus scene. He stopped when he viewed Summer's scowl and put his hand to his forehead. "Oh, yeah. Expanding my social obligations with an open mind. Got it."

Seth looked at what Ryan had on his head and held in his hand. "Ryan, another minty fashion challenge but I think we can pull it off." He took the tool belt from Ryan and put it on. He picked up a hard hat, too.

Summer looked at Marissa and they laughed. "Because it's fun to stay at the Y-M-C-A," Summer and Marissa sang the Village People's hit, dancing out the letters.

Ryan and Seth quickly threw the hats and belt back in the box. "Or choose not to pull it off," said Seth pursing his lips tightly.

"That stuff's more important at the clinic, it's such good P.R. for Kirsten and the Newport Group," Marissa said. She turned toward Seth. "Seth, you're technically our liaison to the Newport Group, you know. Your mom is donating the design work for the children's section."

"I know that, Marissa. Not my usual modus operandi, but I'm taking this seriously. Ryan and I checked out all the cool stuff at Mom's place. I've been working my ass off making sure the play area is awesome. I came up with the ultimate gaming experience given a laughable budget."

The hospital had been delighted to discover Kirsten Cohen's son's involvement, and Summer had been equally delighted to combine her charity work with Seth time. But it was Ryan who had lobbied hardest for Seth to join in because he wanted a peak at Kirsten's work but didn't want the attention that came with the position.

After school one day, they had gone over to the Newport Group. After discovering Mr. McNichols had not returned yet, Ryan had had a lovely time quizzing the designers about the layout and building material choices. Seth had obsessed about which books, board games, software and systems to recommend.

"So, okay. I thought it was appropriate to assign you guys to the children's cabinets. They are taking the boxes to 'A' now," Marissa said pointing. There were labeled flags around the parking lot and grassy field. Members of the water polo team were carting boxes to the A flag in one corner.

"Summer, the candy strippers are working on the library bookshelves in 'D'." A few girls were already working on them there.

Two cheerleaders hollered impatiently from mid field for Marissa's attention. She turned to her friends apologetically. "See you guys later?" Marissa asked before she ran off.

Summer made two sets of Newport Group stuff - shirts, hard hats, and belts. She handed one set to Ryan and another to Seth. "I totally love mint." Summer and Seth began to kiss tenderly.

Ryan grabbed her offerings, and turned away to leave the pair to themselves. He got some tools, and headed over to the appointed area. He opened the first set of cardboard boxes. Panels of wood for the sides, the frame, and the drawers were laid on top of each other.

Ryan was looking over the directions when Seth arrived with a silly grin on his face. He dropped the Newport Group supplies on the grass. "Man, it's embarrassing. She can't keep her paws – sometimes claws - off of me." He shook his head ruefully. "Whiskers tickle," he muttered.

Ryan ignored him and began to put together the cabinets and drawers. It was a relatively simple design and was held together mostly with turn bolts screwed into predrilled holes. He put on the tool belt. There weren't many tools needed, but the belt had pockets for the hardware and glue that kept getting lost in the grass.

It was a nice day, and Ryan had to admit the Newport kids were giving up a Saturday to do some good. The soccer coach and Mr. Schmidt were there to supervise, but surprisingly most of the students seemed to know what to do. Any cynical thoughts Ryan had that they might be doing this for their college transcripts or looking to hook up with someone were pushed aside.

Seth sat cross-legged across from Ryan and watched him work. As Ryan finished each job, Seth would read off the next set of directions. Most of Seth's time was spent spying on Summer and keeping a running commentary on anything that entered his mind.

After the first base cabinet was constructed, Ryan got into a groove and the work went fast.

"Management would like to extend to its rank and file – great job, really, A, Ryan."

Ryan snorted.

Seth put the hard hat on, and knocked on it in various places experimentally. "The cabinets aren't as heavy as I thought they'd be. It must be all the weight lifting I've been doing this past week. We lifted, what, every other day? We even went running together once!"

With the Cohen's usual munificence, the weight training area on the patio had been furbished with top notch everything and discreetly hidden in fine cabinetry.

"Playing emo tunes and plotting ways to get more beer from Sandy near the weights does not count as lifting weights. And the cabinets are light as a feather when you don't actually lift any part of them – or help me do anything."

"Say what you want, but you're not bringing me down. All I feel is peace and love around me." He rested his hands on his knees, index fingers touching the tip of his thumbs, and closed his eyes, breathing evenly.

"What's with this week long nirvana fest? The water polo team's been busy with state championship finals, but I bet that stupid smile you come home with every time you see Summer is the real reason."

"I'm in a deep, deep zen-like concentration and ignoring your crass suggestions." Seth opened his eyes and said, "Quality control and management are huge responsibilities that you clearly don't appreciate."

Ryan glared but Seth was unfazed by it.

Ryan smeared a bead of glue along a joint with his finger. He wiped off the excess glue on his jeans. The construction of the cabinets was finished. There were only the doorknobs and door pulls to take care of.

"Go get me a bit for this." He tossed Seth one of the drawer pulls.

Seth caught it and turned it over with a perplexed expression. "That's a power tool thing, right? Umm..."

"Never mind," Ryan cut him off. He stood up, and stretched his back. The common grounds were thinning out as people completed their tasks and left for home or for the clinic to help there. They had the last group of cabinets not already down by the parking lot.

"This is tough work; I really appreciate the rank and file now," Seth said as he helped Ryan carry some of the trash away.

"I've had much worse than a day of pretend-construction work," Ryan said sarcastically. The screw gun slapped against his thigh the way a hammer used to at his grimy construction job last summer. It was hard to imagine his plans to escape Newport and head to Austin was only months ago.

"Think of the Super Friends 1970s cartoon. When the superheroes united they had to manage their talent – would you send Superman to check out the Sea Mobsters? Because what if Lex Luther started up something, too? No, you would send Aquaman in that case. See what I mean?"

Ryan continued walking but said, "Rarely, if ever. And definitely not now. You're lazy."

They threw the plastic and cardboard into their dumpsters and went to Mr. Schmidt sitting by a tool chest listening to classical music.

Seth said, "The ush-, my good reckoning man."

Mr. Schmidt frowned.

"The usual set of drill bits, please," Ryan explained.

He handed them to Ryan and pointed at a sheet in his hand. "I plotted the rate of cabinet completion for class next week. It reached a plateau after the first hour of increase," Mr. Schmidt said as his mole twitched.

Ryan nodded slowly in pretense of mild interest, and stepped away from the pedantic math instructor.

"Yeah, thanks for the tip," Seth said.

There were more than two dozen or so finished cabinets wrapped protectively and loaded onto a full truck bed.

The coach shouted from the cab to the people nearby, "Okay, we're heading over. Mr. Schmidt will round up you stragglers." Other schools' students were already at the clinic volunteering in other ways like cleaning and painting, and would help in unloading the truck.

Mr. Schmidt stood up and waved to him. "I'm going to lock up the storage shed, and finish things up here. We're behind you about a half hour." He began to walk across the field pushing the tool chest cart.

A small convoy of expensive cars including Marissa's followed the truck out of the driveway.

"Get drastic and fight the Santa Ana; let's hydrate." Seth walked to a refreshment stand. He handed Ryan a bottle of water.

"Damn, this is taking forever. We're the last group. We don't want you to be late for," Seth stretched the next word, "_yogalates_ tonight." He turned and searched the area for Summer. "I don't think we can count on Summer or Marissa. The yearbook and hospital newsletter photo ops at the clinic could take a while."

"It wouldn't have taken so long if you had helped me more."

"You just have to drill some holes, screw on the hardware, drag the cabinets down to the truck, then we're done. God, everyone is so lost without me."

Ryan scowled and opened his cell phone to speed dial Sandy.

Waiting for Sandy to pick up, they could hear Brad talking to Summer but couldn't make out the words.

Sandy answered the phone.

Ryan said, "Hey Sandy, it's me. The girls are busy and we'll need a ride after all."

Brad raised his voice. "Summer, you've always been really hot. All the guys on the team think so. I hate to see you wasting it on that queer."

Seth looked shocked for a moment before he headed toward the voices. Ryan hurried to follow. Sandy was forgotten for the moment.

"Brad, you are such a jackass," Summer was heard saying.

"I'll be a jackass if you'll be my polo pony."

"Eww!" Summer laughed mockingly at Brad. "Oh my god... just, eww."

Ryan and Seth came around the side of the truck and saw Summer being backed up against the truck, blocked in by Brad's arms. She had put on the full Newport Group regalia of tee shirt, hard hat, and tool belt. The hat tipped forward as she knocked its back against the truck.

Brad stepped closer to Summer, took off the hard hat, and leaned in to force a kiss. Summer's eyes flashed with anger and she held her palms out to ward him off.

"Hey, get off of her." Seth put his hand on Brad's shoulder and tried to spin him around, but Brad only turned his head and looked at him contemptuously.

Summer ducked out from between Brad's arms. Brad turned to face them. His eyes narrowed angrily at Seth's intrusion. "You know she'd rather have any of us if it wasn't for your Mommy's money." Brad raised his voice playing to the small crowd that gathered.

There were three cheerleaders, and a couple of Brad's teammates still around. The girls tittered and the guys tensed up, eager for some excitement.

Summer acted before anyone else did, and stepped between Brad and Seth. She stared hard at Brad who looked at her resentfully before dropping his gaze. She held a screwdriver in her hand. "The only thing I know is the pain this screw is gonna cause when I jam it up your Brad-ass."

Summer wheeled and turned to Seth. "And Cohen, do I look like a damsel in distress? I'll ask for help when I need it."

"Saved by your girlfriend?" Brad taunted. He stepped around Summer and toward Seth.

Brad pushed against Seth's chest with open hands. Seth stumbled backwards a few steps.

"Whatever, Bradford. Just stay away from her." Seth opened his hands to his side, and backed away from Brad's advances. "The Geneva Convention of schoolyard bullying clearly states when someone is backing away, unarmed like I am, the aggressor is obliged to back down."

Brad accepted the surrender by punching Seth in the face. Seth's hand went up to too late to block it. His head snapped back and he backpedaled. He touched his lip and looked at the blood on his fingers. He stared at it for a moment then at Brad, seeming to disbelieve what he saw.

A few in the group laughed.

Summer yelled to them, "Hilter's youth much?" Then to Brad she added, "Cut this macho shit out!"

Brad smiled at her without replying. He cracked his knuckles.

Summer went to Ryan's side. "I'm going to get the Mole-man." She ran across the field in the direction Mr. Schmidt had gone.

Ryan tensed and stood taller, ready to help. His hands clenched and he remembered Sandy on the other end of the cell phone.

Ryan lifted the phone to his hear. Sandy could be heard shouting, "Ryan? Ryan?" He must have heard the commotion and stayed on the line.

"Sandy, ummm yeah, it's Ryan. Seth's in a fight."

"Seth? Where the hell are the chaperones? Damn it." There was a pause. "I'm already on my way."

"Sandy, it might be bad. It's a water polo guy and two of his friends are around. It might be better if I helped."

"No! You can't afford to get in another fight no matter what, you know that."

Ryan nodded vaguely into the cell phone and put it in his tool belt pouch.

"Hey, let's not do this, Brad," Ryan said. Brad was circling Seth.

"This is too stupid to be really happening. Am I being punked? Or what – are we eight?" Seth asked. His lip was already swelling.

When Ryan stepped forward in an offer to help, Seth shook his head adamantly.

"No babe to save you. No boyfriend to save you. What are you going to do now, Cohen?"

Seth seemed to realize he wasn't getting out of this; his chest rose and fell rapidly. He glanced at Ryan, a panicked expression on his face.

Ryan's heart raced and he fought to breath evenly. He battled with himself, debating whether to step in despite Seth's wishes, despite Sandy's pleas. Brad had the clear weight, height, and training advantages. Ryan wanted so much to pay back Brad and all the water polo playing bullies, but something held him back. He had made promises to the Cohens, people he cared about. Promises made to people who cared about him despite all his faults and knack for getting them hurt.

Seth put his arms to his side and sighed loudly in an apparent admission of defeat. Then he swung wildly at Brad who was caught surprised. Seth hit his nose solidly.

Brad stood dazed for a moment.

"Cohen, throwing it down." The male voice began mockingly but ended less certainly as Brad bent over in pain and his blood began to drip through his hands he held to his face.

Brad seemed to be recharged by the verbage and stomped angrily toward Seth. His first was already cocked and he didn't sneak in or seem to think Seth would put up much of a defense.

Seth was shaking out his fist when Brad's swing contacted his chin. Seth's head snapped back. When he regained his balance, his eyes grew wide with fear.

Without pause Seth launched himself at Brad, locking his arms in front of him to strike the other boy's middle. He fell on top of Brad and pinned his knees against his chest. Seth seemed momentarily surprised before he let out an undecipherable roar and began pummeling Brad in the face and chest. Brad put his arms up and tried to roll Seth off of him, but Seth was in a frenzy of motion.

There was a general astonishment as the small group of witnesses stood frozen in place. Then Brad's friends, Chip and Blaine, rushed forward and easily pulled off Seth.

"Stay out of it, man." Ryan tried to hold them back and was only successful in grabbing Chip.

The two squared off, dancing and trading jabs, but neither landing anything solidly. Ryan turned his head to see how Seth was doing.

Seth was hunched over and protecting his face and chest from a barrage of punches. Blaine was joined by Brad, and they took turns pushing Seth back and forth between them. Then Brad held Seth's shoulder and put all his weight into a punch to Seth's stomach. Seth gasped and tripped backwards. He broke his fall with his right arm. Brad kicked him in the ribs on the way down. Seth arched his back against the kick, and his head hit the pavement.

Chip's fist slammed into Ryan's mouth, recalling his attention. Ryan tried to back away and to go Seth, but Chip kept attacking. Ryan absorbed the punches as he edged toward Seth.

Out of the corner of Ryan's eye, he saw people approach - Sandy, Mr. Schmidt and Summer.

"Stop. Now," Sandy bellowed.

Everyone obeyed, surprised by the newcomers.

Ryan lowered his fists warily. He gasped trying to catch his breath and looked around.

Seth lay too quietly on the ground. Ryan hesitantly glanced up at Sandy. Sandy's face was ashen as he ran to Seth's side.

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Authors notes: Yikes, I really wanted to finish before the new season. This chapter was rushed but one more is needed, I think. I may throw myself at it to avoid politics tomorrow. By the way, my reference to the ugly brown shirt was stolen from the boards – I hope whoever said it doesn't mind. I needed a fashion statement and don't know much about it to form my own opinion. Thanks for the generous reviews on the previous chapters!


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Seth moved his head and winced in pain. He was flat on his back in the Harbor parking lot. "Mommy, do I have to go to play group today?" he asked.

"Seth, it's Dad. Where does it hurt?"

Seth squinted up at Sandy, confused, and put up a hand to ward him off. He gasped when his hand touched Sandy. "Ouch. Damn." He sat up quickly and cradled his wrist. "Ryan?"

Ryan had been hanging behind Sandy and stepped forward. "Hey, man." He had a fat lip, and his cheek was bruised and red.

Seth fared worse. His whole face was swollen, and a deep cut on the left side of his face bled profusely.

A short distance away Mr. Schmidt checked on the injured water polo players and wide-eyed cheerleaders. He shouted, 'I just called the paramedics. Let's calm down." Students were rehashing the fresh story. A couple of the girls pulled out cell phones and gestured excitedly. Chip and Blaine huddled around a bloodied and dazed Brad, as if preparing a game plan.

Seth shook his head again, clearing his mind. "Dad? What are you doing here?"

"I was talking to Ryan on the cell when it started. I called your mom; she's on the way, too."

"So you guys were chatting when I got my ass kicked, while my face was being redesigned by Ralph Lauren's Polo collection?"

Ryan's face drained. He clenched his teeth. He should have protected Seth and not been selfish about his own problem. Maybe then Seth wouldn't be hurt now.

Before either of them could answer, Kirsten could be seen approaching.

Sandy whispered, "Don't get cute in front of your mom, she'll be upset enough. I told Ryan not to get involved."

Seth nodded. "Mum for me Mum."

Kirsten looked over Seth anxiously. She ran a hand through his hair and her eyes welled up with tears.

"Ryan let me get beat up," Seth said conversationally.

Kirsten grimaced. "I wish you guys had told us what was happening at Harbor. Sandy filled me in about today. You did the right thing, Ryan."

Ryan held her gaze but didn't know how to respond. Kirsten had wanted to throw Ryan out of the poolhouse when Seth got into a fight at the beach party – a fight where he barely got injured. Would she think differently when she realized how badly hurt Seth might be, how her baby lay bleeding and broken because Ryan stood by doing nothing?

"I think I might throw up." Seth tilted his head to one side but only moaned. He took a shuddering breath and said, "Wasn't Sophie's Choice also for the pretty, blonde kid? Dad told Ryan to let me get beat up; he chose Ryan over me," Seth said indignantly.

"Cut it out. You were supposed to look out for Ryan. You know he can't get into any fights."

"Am I my brother's keeper?"

"Seth Ezekiel Cohen," Kirsten warned.

Sandy interrupted. "Honey, he's asking about what you guys call the Old Testament. My specialty." Sandy paused for a moment before answering emphatically. "Yes. We all look out for each other. Ryan was the one who needed to be protected just then. If I wasn't worried about your hit to the head, I'd hit you in the head. "

"Those boys will not be a bother anymore." Kirsten glared in their direction.

"Mom, I was just yanking the parental chain. Ryan knows that. Right, Ryan? You would totally step in if I needed help. But I didn't need help, and it felt good. How did you know I would take down Brad? Was it our training sessions that clued you in on my supernatural strength?"

Ryan smirked. "So it felt good when I stood by while you got knocked out and your arm was broken?"

"That was a horizontal eight count from the concrete, not a K.O. Now Brad - he was messed up by yours truly," Seth gloated. "If it hadn't become a two on one … Do you think I'll be the talk of campus? I'll have to play it cool and modest."

"Your dad said not to do anything but I'm sorry. I thought about doing things differently …"

Sandy frowned. "No more crazy talk. We are a family and we take care of each other."

"Yes, a family with a son who can't keep his mouth shut when he should, and a son who can't open his mouth when he should. But a family," Kirsten said.

"Umm," Ryan started hestitantly, "then can I say something now? Chip said he heard from his dad that Mr. Moore is saying Mr. Nichols is not going to go along with the your plans." Ryan shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, unused to confessing his worries. "I did burned down his house, let his only grandson get beat up while watching from the sidelines, and ruined a profitable relationship with a major investor in the new development. When he gets back into town …"

"It doesn't matter if you have Kirsten on your side, kid."

"Ryan, don't worry about my dad. You may never win him over despite making Seth closer to the football player he dearly wants."

"And an accomplished skirt chaser," Seth added.

Kirsten continued. "Sandy gave him a beautiful grandson, agreed to stay in Newport so I could make him even richer than rich, and Dad still can't say Sandy's name." Kirsten took Ryan by the shoulders and shook gently. Her kiss on his cheek became a hug. She pulled back and said, "Some forms of combat are fought inside. I think you've won a few rounds, and we're proud."

Ryan passively accepted the kiss. But inside a great weigh lifted, one he only vaguely knew he had. And it felt good, like he was free of an uncontrolled fury born of hate and hurt. In its place was a still fragile but fierce trust in his new family. He couldn't promise he wouldn't get in another fight, but if he did it would be because of a stupid choice, nothing like the mindless snap he had with Chester.

The sirens were silent now, and two paramedics were walking toward them with Summer on their heels. She had waited for them at the campus entrance to guide them to the right place.

Summer pushed Ryan out of the way for the paramedics, and said officiously, "Adorkably heroic Caucasian, male, 17 years old, involved in an altercation sustaining blunt force trauma to his head and torso. Probable broken arm. He was unconscious for less than a minute."

She knelt by him and looked up at everyone. "What? Candy striper training."

The older, dark haired paramedic raised his eyebrows but made no comment. He took out a pen light and flashed it in Seth's eye. "Track my finger, son. What day is it?"

"Son? Parent after parent keep showing up."

Another siren grew closer until a black and white squad car pulled up. Everyone stood up and stared as two officers got out and was met by Mr. Schmidt.

"Goodbye, Chino," Chip said loud enough to be overheard. "You can thank me for calling them."

Kirsten and Sandy passed a silent, tense look. Then Sandy went to introduce himself to the officers.

Kirsten turned Ryan away from everyone and forced him to look at her. "My husband was right about you. Remember that."

"Hey, dude. We've all got your six." Seth was sitting up in a gurney now. He held out his good hand in a knuckled fist. Ryan knocked it and grinned.

Sandy returned. "We'll have to straighten it out downtown, but I'll be right behind you. I may have to grease a few more wheels in Child Services, and Kirsten may have to twist Caleb's arm to get the old white men's club to go along with but it will be done. Don't worry kid."

He stepped aside to allow the police officer forward. "Ryan Atwood? You are in violation of your parole conditions."

Ryan wasn't listening to the police officers words, but he knew the routine. He put his hands behind his neck, and relaxed to let the police officer pat him down and guide his hands into cuffs.

They walked him to the squad car, past the other students and Mr. Schmidt. Brad was in another gurney. His nose had been broken, and his face was a bloody mess.

"Nobody fucks with us," Chip whispered.

"Who served Brad up with a scrambled face?" Summer asked.

The cheerleaders snickered. Chip and Blaine stepped away from Brad. Brad frowned and looked away.

As the officer was lowering his head into the car, he looked up at Sandy, Kirsten, and Seth and Summer who all smiled reassuringly. His family of too many words needed none when they were in accord. More shit would hit the fan, maybe many nights in an orange jumper. But Ryan knew Sandy and Kirsten would try their damnedest to straighten things out. And that's what mattered – Ryan knew they would try and that he deserved their efforts.

The End


End file.
